tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74355182359529145492024-03-05T02:58:13.953-08:00Run. Recover. Ramble.Kevin LangtonKevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-7555672939928454462022-09-30T15:51:00.000-07:002022-09-30T15:51:13.210-07:00Superior 100 2022<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPDgMw8YYzPKHO_uzssaNLBPyaodlmPkyTMeDH5rfaaYozV-r3XuYDThg6cnNTtNk3l60auTiev5u744X4DDVz2vCCQDIc3_FVrrQ0wizDGusrBoTtj2CQeavwYzDQeFcyJFdVrE-6hIFDRjqBqwlMu1FGOA-zk3H4HrXo2Qk_XR8_mozVD2fINiQ/s3500/SRP_SRR55171-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPDgMw8YYzPKHO_uzssaNLBPyaodlmPkyTMeDH5rfaaYozV-r3XuYDThg6cnNTtNk3l60auTiev5u744X4DDVz2vCCQDIc3_FVrrQ0wizDGusrBoTtj2CQeavwYzDQeFcyJFdVrE-6hIFDRjqBqwlMu1FGOA-zk3H4HrXo2Qk_XR8_mozVD2fINiQ/w400-h266/SRP_SRR55171-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">"Nothing matters." This is what I tell Jordan, my
super boss crew and Superior finisher, as he drives me to the start line of the
Superior 100 at Gooseberry State Park. Maybe I'm talking about the rain that's
pelting the windshield in thick heavy drops and is forecast to continue until
close to nightfall, and all the mud and wet boardwalks and chafing that will
accompany it. Maybe I'm talking about my consecutive DNF runs here in the past
few years (despite three finishes in my first three attempts) and fears of
another DNF. Maybe I'm talking about the many life changes and stressors I've
experienced for the last few months that have impacted sleep, energy levels, focus,
training—some days when I didn't know what to do with myself I would put my
shoes on and hit the trail, but other days I just didn't have the energy or
time for anything extra outside the basic requirements of life and work,
although the stress (and healthier eating) helped me lose some weight, a bonus
here. I say it again. "Nothing matters," and remind him that if we
miss each other at an aid station or if I forget to grab gels or gloves from
him, none of that matters—it will all work out, whatever working out in the end
may look like. Or maybe I'm simply talking about our timing getting to the
start—we're cutting it close and will only have time to pee in the woods next
to the parking lot before making it to the start line (we keep forgetting the
race starts ten minutes earlier than normal due to a reroute and some extra
mileage), where John Storkamp's already giving last minute directions and talking
about love being the most important thing. Okay, love matters. John's right on
that one. John's usually right. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfRfxOYWqQOdh_g2JN2j5J2r6Kyul5UOH209VD0zoZPueKcK7Cb2jdWENV_9k2MH1Smmy1B1G0JvTZucxSGjFID-79bgc0naiYdw5KTLCCxuucOt-wI3_L5B81q8jAmZGwj6ZiIBeYRmtMtZjME2BxXafRoIsMCey2ZSGTatUUDbaMjD_LMQwq-Q2/s3500/SRP_Superior%202022-217-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3500" data-original-width="2334" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfRfxOYWqQOdh_g2JN2j5J2r6Kyul5UOH209VD0zoZPueKcK7Cb2jdWENV_9k2MH1Smmy1B1G0JvTZucxSGjFID-79bgc0naiYdw5KTLCCxuucOt-wI3_L5B81q8jAmZGwj6ZiIBeYRmtMtZjME2BxXafRoIsMCey2ZSGTatUUDbaMjD_LMQwq-Q2/w266-h400/SRP_Superior%202022-217-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-002.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The rain's
still coming down as we start and cross the bridge over the Gooseberry River. Before
we run a half mile I take off my light rainjacket (Houdini of course) and stuff
it into my vest. The rain tingling my arms and face and scalp is electric
sparkles of coolness popping on my skin. It's so pure and lovely.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The
pavement section to Split Rock is a blur of yelling at honking cars and at friends
running. Lots of energy. No one's grumpy yet. No one's hallucinating or
stumbling or falling or puking. It's a party moving on yet unblistered feet.
I'm already a bit hoarse by the time we hit the single track. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On the west
side of the Split Rock River I tell myself to just go with the flow, don't mind
the pile ups and traffic jams and don't worry about getting around people—let the
pace of the crowd temper my excitement and don't waste mental or physical
energy here. It's a technical section so just ride the rhythms of the train in
front. Nothing matters here. Do no harm, as Jason Husveth says. It's early. Too
early for mistakes. At times the trail is a current of moving rain water,
slippery—mud will be a theme from here to Lutsen. I cross the Split Rock River
and on the east side the trail gets more runnable, but the train is still tight
so I politely pass on the left and feel myself open up a bit climbing to the
ridge top. My bib number has popped a corner loose from its safety pin a few
times due to the rain and is flapping against my leg. The downhill to the Split
Rock aid station and return to the ridge is such a social thing as runners are
coming and going and I bomb the downhill with yelling and high fives for those
climbing uphill. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vyc18zIdPPQ7z_e7nTuyXhqQJVpspts_mLWV6nwXLcGBD5wDw4pyL-eODNZ04s9vhhqbqmtjDoEN_xZsC397d97x8FQwOfYpMM3_tOu2mc6hZpzMeWkIHIyWHT2cT5A-yEjBuZ5CAVUc_ScnTSwewHDfAn-LU8qvZfmLzi_lsf6p2_Jhc0RIs8Kl/s3500/SRP_SRR50879-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vyc18zIdPPQ7z_e7nTuyXhqQJVpspts_mLWV6nwXLcGBD5wDw4pyL-eODNZ04s9vhhqbqmtjDoEN_xZsC397d97x8FQwOfYpMM3_tOu2mc6hZpzMeWkIHIyWHT2cT5A-yEjBuZ5CAVUc_ScnTSwewHDfAn-LU8qvZfmLzi_lsf6p2_Jhc0RIs8Kl/w400-h266/SRP_SRR50879-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">John
Storkamp is arriving at the aid station when I get there, checking on his army
of amazing volunteers. I yell out to the volunteers that I love them. I grab
some food and turn around and stuff my face walking up the hill and stairs and
greet Donny Clark at the top. Donny was the main sweeper for years, and before
that he was in charge of course marking. He's always at the top of those stairs
these days. I wouldn't know what to think if he wasn't there. Like so many of
these volunteers, he has done this for decades. And just beyond him is Tom
Kurtovich, who's been doing this since year one and will be at several places
on the course over the next two days. He's calling out numbers to the radio
operators as we crest the ridge top. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then I'm
alone for stretches, settling into my own pace and rhythm, settling into my
head, into my body, into the rain, settling into the experience. It's a mostly
runnable section to Beaver Bay, some of the trail old logging road, and at
times I run with others and at times I enjoy my solitude in the soft rain. I'm
moving well between miles 10 and 20 or so. But I'm thinking about food already,
and by the time I get to Beaver Bay I have one thing on my mind—fried chicken.
Maybe pizza too. I can't stop thinking about fried chicken. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtP_0nEAOZlW9u4m7pHIu7hD9ltmLHJjAqX44VZwDpA_ERVWEkdsOv7tiBV3BOr0WvYLE5ChOve9X7P13LzKER-K6FlPbFyhxai1AUxbuebiFsHY4AexFPMULFGkWmBK9ht3cGMVMoiH5nBHg8gMKVEDS0bT5ii5_aXFRKr9qKNcBDNM3M7r6PgrY/s3500/SRP_SRR50891-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtP_0nEAOZlW9u4m7pHIu7hD9ltmLHJjAqX44VZwDpA_ERVWEkdsOv7tiBV3BOr0WvYLE5ChOve9X7P13LzKER-K6FlPbFyhxai1AUxbuebiFsHY4AexFPMULFGkWmBK9ht3cGMVMoiH5nBHg8gMKVEDS0bT5ii5_aXFRKr9qKNcBDNM3M7r6PgrY/w400-h266/SRP_SRR50891-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At Beaver
Bay a volunteer helps me remove my bib number and with a Sharpie pen writes my
number on the pink ribbon tied to the back of my vest that signifies I'm a hundred
miler. Apparently many bibs are disintegrating or coming loose from the rain. I
stuff my face with whatever I can grab from the aid station table, salty homemade
chocolate cookies that are much better than the chicken that's been frying in
my head, a Coke, some other stuff too, more cookies, another Coke, and I walk
away forcing as much food as I can into my mouth while I try to swallow and talk
to Jordan, who's walking with me. In years past my stomach has been an issue—especially
in the night when I become a vomit rocket covering the forest floor in bile and
froth, but I'm committed to shoveling food and pouring Cokes down my gullet at
each aid station this year. And somehow this year it works—except for some
slight nausea in the final miles, I am able to eat at every aid station and it
all stays where it belongs, in my body instead of recycled as chum for the
night critters.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After mile
twenty, this course usually starts to hammer on me. The next few sections are
in my mind the toughest, through Silver Bay and Tettegouche (I think of the
really tough miles of this course as Beaver Bay through County Road 6, though
the toughest section of this course is actually whatever section I'm on at the
time), but they don't seem so bad this year. Maybe it's the rain—a lovely
escape from heat, what normally means being exposed on rocky climbs and ridges
in the warmth of the day. Usually miles 20 through 45 or so are usually some of
my tougher miles in a 100, the miles where I have to convince my legs that we
are committed to this thing through whatever it brings, but this year I just
move through those miles. Somewhere just after Beaver Bay I have a conversation
with a runner named Norman and he mentions that he's from Puerto Rico, and in
our short conversation we talk about mofongo and Playa Sucia and his house in
Rincon. The climbing on this section doesn't impact me as it often does.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Jordan's at
Silver Bay and I come into the aid station yelling about love, arms raised,
looking for something to eat, everything to eat. I down a quesadilla, maybe a
grilled cheese, definitely a Coke. More cookies too. I want all the cookies,
all the Coke. When I leave the aid station, and I'm leaving them a bit quicker
than usual, I realize Jordan has magically removed the trash from my vest and
refilled my gels. How did I not notice my stealth crew guy emptying my pockets?</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNU3fqm5teR6wEVswqrL5fXGkjCB9woaWqG6VB7Roj6Tz82SxmLEEdFKJyuBkbVTLc9bhOYVpPW0XhzF4hNJKatutAq9lfAn_Nq6Q1AX7L1y4hsSIohqiX6K6Wr2l2EfRwuDt38X402pCYFbVvfeSXXXLYUmXHvA5eYCGiSbh9dpC5g7qfx5V0278/s3500/SRP_SRR53450A-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNU3fqm5teR6wEVswqrL5fXGkjCB9woaWqG6VB7Roj6Tz82SxmLEEdFKJyuBkbVTLc9bhOYVpPW0XhzF4hNJKatutAq9lfAn_Nq6Q1AX7L1y4hsSIohqiX6K6Wr2l2EfRwuDt38X402pCYFbVvfeSXXXLYUmXHvA5eYCGiSbh9dpC5g7qfx5V0278/w400-h266/SRP_SRR53450A-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It's at
this point on that my recall of the race comes from a softer and hazier fold in
the brain, like patches of a blackout drunk or images from a dream that appear
briefly days or weeks later, with details slowly unraveling, the memory a loose
thread on an old sweater, boiling bubbles rising from the subconscious. It's
why I'm trying to write about the experience, not only to make sense of it but
to remember it as best I can. At some point the race turns away from the head,
from thought, and morphs more into pure experience, a place where memory and
thinking and maybe even language only stray as interlopers. Something else
takes over and logic and reason no longer live here. The regions of the brain
that translate senses—the slide of mud, the pain of each step on the bottom of
blistered feet, the sparkle of rain on skin, the smell of wet leaves and roots—becomes
more prominent and overrides the temporary need to process meaning and thought—maybe
that's why human touch is so meaningful to me at these times. I imagine it's
akin to how my dog experiences life, and maybe that's why I love these things
so much. They put us in the moment, in the experience, and knock us out of our
routines and illusions of daily life. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HeQCjSJk4GFS6gCEexFa--Z6hLHqSObOzAh5aL3QmYpElKtfUZxFIcyZb-oFFF2ZKXJqCHKzcjG8NaOybViiSslqk8E65_3bxEyZ-bKQgnSUJBLIuqGQo3UyhCZWxd7se2eisuWfJe28WNeIjpHBBQUMQVScQYCs8VtVT1TahtnNUeXZRdlsTqHq/s768/IMG_4044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="768" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HeQCjSJk4GFS6gCEexFa--Z6hLHqSObOzAh5aL3QmYpElKtfUZxFIcyZb-oFFF2ZKXJqCHKzcjG8NaOybViiSslqk8E65_3bxEyZ-bKQgnSUJBLIuqGQo3UyhCZWxd7se2eisuWfJe28WNeIjpHBBQUMQVScQYCs8VtVT1TahtnNUeXZRdlsTqHq/w400-h297/IMG_4044.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Jordan Wesely<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That section
from Silver Bay to Tettegouche can be cruel in the most beautiful ways. The
views are so lovely they're painful, surreal in the rain and the fog that
follows it. We are swimming through milky scenes of lakes and trees. The climbs
and drops, Bean, Bear, Trudee, and so on, are there, but they don't have as
much impact—throughout the winter I improved my weak climbing skills on the
treadmill, using its software to move through the Alps, Kilimanjaro, etc. Soon
enough I'm on state park trail, smoother, buffed out trail from more foot
traffic. The bridge over the Baptism River was washed out in spring floods and
the race is rerouted down to cross the river at the highway. I float down the
snowmobile trail and hit some shoe sucking puddles on the way. I consider
diving headfirst into one of those monstrous puddles, but chafing is already
whispering in my shorts and I don't want to amplify it. Everything is wet but
it feels good for now. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I remember
very little of the Tettegouche aid station. I'm sure there was food and Coke
and laughter. But the next section to County Road 6 wears on me. It always
does. It's just tedious—that's the word for it. And this evening I hear sirens
from the highway—an odd sound bouncing through the trees—and I hope it doesn't
mean someone's crew or a volunteer—or anyone really—has had an accident. The
sirens keep coming. Something's not good out there on the highway. I think of
Jordan driving my car aid station to aid station and hope he's okay. It's
getting dark. Or maybe it's not dark yet—maybe it's just the fog and lack of
sunlight that makes it feel dark. The rain has stopped in this section but it
has left so much mud and my feet are feeling forty miles of wetness, the skin
sliding loose and bubbling. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I keep
moving and come around to a ridgetop and Scott Rokis is there taking photos. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"I
heard a crash on the highway earlier," he says. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Yeah,
those sirens have been echoing forever," I say. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Traffic
was stopped in both directions," he says.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We chat
about the accident a bit more, maybe about the weather, about what an achingly
beautiful evening it is. I look down at the highway in the distance, the big
lake blanketed in fog behind it. It's not dark yet but it's closing in on us.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"I
should keep rolling," I say.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Oh
please do," Scott says.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUv2RlFGZ7peYE6Xe4bDQTOxuVw5p6jkaHNKtLgQ8k4mCbDrwYa9S8LrAlOxLTOEgHhGjJ5MUqid2Ckpu_bUJiVeLTiuYT3uoIDCGga_-s5t_rKQ45J0ogHJFgwC9wDVhH3c0i-_AggbC-z1qnQsLLH6UxxO7j8kFoRR36JaRAU-57-5P1kqkn8Rv9/s3500/SRP_SRR55128-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUv2RlFGZ7peYE6Xe4bDQTOxuVw5p6jkaHNKtLgQ8k4mCbDrwYa9S8LrAlOxLTOEgHhGjJ5MUqid2Ckpu_bUJiVeLTiuYT3uoIDCGga_-s5t_rKQ45J0ogHJFgwC9wDVhH3c0i-_AggbC-z1qnQsLLH6UxxO7j8kFoRR36JaRAU-57-5P1kqkn8Rv9/w400-h266/SRP_SRR55128-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-007.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Eventually
I see County Road 6 below in the distance, hear cars zooming the pavement. This
aid station is a transition to night, and it's dark now, and I'm circling
around Sawmill Dome, following its sharp descent, sometimes using my hands to
drop down over big rocks, assurance against stiff legs. Eventually I'm crossing
the highway and following the cones into the aid station. I might sit here—if I
do it's the first time I've sat today. Time to regroup, ready myself to move
through the long night. Jason and TJ are here with Jordan. Jason decided last
minute not to run. TJ had chosen to hike as much of the course as he could this
year. But he's not there yet. His race will end at County Road 6, so he's
somewhere behind me, still moving. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On the way
to Finland I fall off a slick boardwalk bridge. Approaching it I notice the
boards are bent and rotted, and with my first steps I slide off to land on a beaver
dam. Further on, I'm falling asleep moving, shaking my head to wake up. With so
much water so thick in the air my headlamp is like looking through a
translucent moon, floating droplets lit in the beam. I follow Susan Donnelly
for a brief time and we catch up. I follow Julie Berg for a brief time and we
catch up. These night conversations are wonderful, and these people's voices,
whether behind me or in front of me, are strings I tie myself to that keep me
moving forward. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At the
Finland aid station I'm sleepy, grumpy. TJ and Jordan and Jason are all there. I'm
happy to see my boys but I want sleep, to just put my head on my knees for two
minutes. I'm in a chair and someone next to us is running an electric massager
on his legs. The noise is not helping my hope for a brief nap. Someone has
wrapped a puffy jacket around me. I may put sleeves on here, maybe a hat too. Jason's
asking what kind of pace I've been holding, wondering if he might pace me a
bit. I don't know. My answers are confusing, I'm sure. I change my underwear
sitting in the chair. If I change socks they will just get wet right away. The boys
are telling me it's time to get moving. They're telling me to eat more first. I
walk out into the night, away from the noise and lights, with a hand full of
food and some Coke in the other hand. I still feel the chafing in my shorts,
the rub of wet skin on wet skin. My feet are blistered from the moisture and
mud too. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I'm still
falling asleep moving and it alarms me. it doesn't feel safe. I briefly lay
down next to the trail and try for sleep but it doesn't come. I fall off
another boardwalk bridge and slam my wrist hard on the way down. I come into
the Sonju aid station and say hi to Bonnie Riley and tell her I'm staying the
hell away from that fire—it's a magnet that could keep me here until morning. I
grab some pancakes and sit down and put my head on my knees and fall asleep.
The sleep lasts less than five minutes I'd guess but I sit up feeling better
for now. I grab another pancake—holy smokes it tastes good and I like its heat
in my hands. I say goodbye to Bonnie and she says she was just about to come
kick me out of the chair.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Back on the
trail, in this section filled with roots and swampy muddy dreams, sleep still pulls
at me, and I startle myself awake. I find a log beside the trail and lay down
on the other side of it, half hidden so passing runners don't think I'm dead or
hurt. I close my eyes. A couple breaths and sleep finds me if for only another
couple minutes. As I feel passing runners' footfalls on the trail I say,
"I'm okay, just resting." Soon enough I'm up and moving. I smell the
barn coming into the Crosby aid station, the familiar rise over a knob and then
down to the open road and open sky. That short power nap did me good and I'm
alert and moving well. The sky has cleared some and the stars are dripping onto
my wet skin, thick and sparkly. Walking some on the road, running some too.
Jordan finds me here on the road and moves into the aid station with me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I'm picking
up a pacer here. My coach, Jake Hegge—a word on coaching and Jake: for years I
never considered a coach. I've run all my life. It's a simple process, left
foot, right foot, and so on. But after not finishing Superior a few times, I
contacted Jake, and it works for me much like having an AA sponsor does—he's someone
who gives me guidance and accountability, who holds me back when I need it and
someone who pushes me forward out of my comfort zone when I need it. So Jake
texted me yesterday and asked if I want a pacer. He said Gerard Cramer was
working the Crosby aid station and willing to run me home once I got there. Poor
Gerard—a wonderful guy and a wonderful pacer. And the funny thing about Jake is
that he's probably finishing the race, a win, around the time I pull into
Crosby.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I ask
around the aid station for Gerard. "He's getting ready for you," Mike
Borst says while I gargle pancakes. I find Gerard in his van, changing clothes,
and he tells me he'll catch up, and he does soon, before we descend to the Manitou
River. Climbing the other side we catch and join a guy named Ken and we move
well together through that long climb with it's false peaks. Somewhere along
here the sun is coming up and the body feels its energy, the resurrection time.
I have help and company now in the kindness of Gerard. The struggles of night
have passed and we continue to move and somehow I know there will be a finish,
a buckle, today.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIRrZS9_seNTozZe5oykQ05DhCHFqW84ctcQthJUUpykUfEM7Cye3pefHu1ZwHZEX-R7dHLDvZxhCyfphZXgJ5AjCi0UKsT9ysFXTgs-mRHKKWuFoR3EKlrrBZfY9_agELvQSp4zXjpcJZy_GiLgFUuWdAaUe8H-I44SJRaOT4FZGv3FnErdAoJrw/s3500/SRP_SRR58737-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3500" data-original-width="2334" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIRrZS9_seNTozZe5oykQ05DhCHFqW84ctcQthJUUpykUfEM7Cye3pefHu1ZwHZEX-R7dHLDvZxhCyfphZXgJ5AjCi0UKsT9ysFXTgs-mRHKKWuFoR3EKlrrBZfY9_agELvQSp4zXjpcJZy_GiLgFUuWdAaUe8H-I44SJRaOT4FZGv3FnErdAoJrw/w266-h400/SRP_SRR58737-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-012.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Sugarloaf
aid station smells like breakfast. They have hash browns! Jordan hands me a
bowl of them and I sit down and drop them on the ground. Jordan refills the
bowl and I eat them with my fingers. I put on a dry shirt. I get up and keep
moving. Always moving.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuC4ME6tTvyPG-WErg45D1Fx5AqpXLMdrXVSecVbdz8pSVsMknLVYJoIWL1xJBTlNt85cvzaerVapSFXoneQtvpvoEdKZiMrrvbWDMdhVOVnsWwZW0j_r3gEz8BSB-JJqkyU5r0uJX1JGQT_VK4xND4OeqdZ1T7582UT4vSwxDV1XXV9QqmMOGBRy2/s3500/SRP_SRR53479-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuC4ME6tTvyPG-WErg45D1Fx5AqpXLMdrXVSecVbdz8pSVsMknLVYJoIWL1xJBTlNt85cvzaerVapSFXoneQtvpvoEdKZiMrrvbWDMdhVOVnsWwZW0j_r3gEz8BSB-JJqkyU5r0uJX1JGQT_VK4xND4OeqdZ1T7582UT4vSwxDV1XXV9QqmMOGBRy2/w400-h266/SRP_SRR53479-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-011.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We move
through Cramer. Gerard's voice has become a string pulling me forward to
Lutsen. He's a ship pulling an anchor though sand. We hit the Cross River with
its water rushing over rocks and the trail's ups and downs and we keep moving. I
think I see its bridge ahead but it's just another log, a downed tree, a hope.
Campers cheer for us outside their tents and hand me dried mango just before we
cross the river and climb away from it. The sun climbs with us. And then we are
dropping down to the Temperance River and aid station, making quick work of it,
getting food in us, getting out. We are in familiar ground now, less than a
marathon to go, and we are moving well along both sides of the river, even with
the gentle climb away from it, running some of it, Gerard's voice still pulling
me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Of course
we have slowed down but everyone does and few runners are passing us. The
faster 50 milers are coming by now, offering encouragement. I wave them by
without moving off the trail. I tell Gerard about the construction workers I
see ahead on the trail, actually some yellowed leaves. I've already pointed out
the human head I saw on a log somewhere around dawn, and each time Gerard says,
"No." I decide to keep my questionable observations to myself, but
there are so many heads and faces. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The climb
up to Carlton Peak is slow but steady and rewarding with its views of the big
lake. By this point I'm doing math in my head, considering cutoff times. I'm
sure Gerard's math is better than mine. I've been looking forward to the long
gradual downhill into Sawbill, but with each step the chafing and blistering
pounce on my nerves. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That
section from Sawbill to Oberg feels relentless, nothing too tough but every
step looks the same in these trees. We talk often about time and pace and
cutoffs and we will be close but we keep moving. At Oberg John Horns is there,
the sweeper. This is the last aid station and the finish is like a done thing
now. Horns tells me he will give me a fifteen minute head start and says,
"Just stay ahead of me, Kevin." I feel I can do that. Jordan is emptying
and filling my vest pockets and I am eating and wanting to get out of there.
But wait, I see one of my favorite aid station dogs, Abby. Abby's here! I bend
down to pet her and say hi, but it feels like the entire aid station is telling
me to get the hell out of there. "Let's go to fucking Lutsen yall."</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMPIQTjbis3EeK-yejbq-DCVAsIOgfzrhAKxXPL_lJAqGl5yp-F-LNCfsUId48FAKPwjjXRFFdqeX4Ev6q2oEA_N3R8umZX_3fjdva972Hxd0re6O-TPqCfGaW1yMO04VhPLB-Fjfdj3UHYvcs0xMSZWIYCPi79lAhpEDjEs0uM5PLIZECNZ2U4MK/s3500/SRP_SRR53422-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMPIQTjbis3EeK-yejbq-DCVAsIOgfzrhAKxXPL_lJAqGl5yp-F-LNCfsUId48FAKPwjjXRFFdqeX4Ev6q2oEA_N3R8umZX_3fjdva972Hxd0re6O-TPqCfGaW1yMO04VhPLB-Fjfdj3UHYvcs0xMSZWIYCPi79lAhpEDjEs0uM5PLIZECNZ2U4MK/w400-h266/SRP_SRR53422-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I know the
timing is still questionable. These are slow miles ahead. But I know this race
is a done thing, timing or not, I will get to Lutsen on foot this year. My
throat tightens at the thought, at the emotion really. My headlamp is back on
my head. Gerard is pushing me through and up Moose Mountain. It's so eerie up
here, headlamp turned on now, as if there are ghosts among us. Gerard keeps
talking about the timing, not a second to waste, no time for rests or slowing.
In the swamp between Moose and Mystery Mountains, I say it again. "Nothing
matters." And in that moment it's true. Nothing. Matters. This thing we
are doing is absurd really. The only meaning to it is what we give it. And
while I've given it plenty, there is nothing here that matters outside this
series of moments. This step is all there is. If we get there before the
cutoff, that's great. And if we don't make the cutoff, we will still get there.
Whatever weight I've given that buckle is strictly the weight I've given it.
It's only a destination and getting there has been the reward, not just the
race, but the training, the spiritual preparation, the camaraderie. Nothing
matters here. Just keep moving forward, step by painful and joyous step. I tell
Gerard that once we get to the group campsite on Mystery Mountain it's almost all
downhill from there, a done deal. At some point I tell him we are passing that
group campsite, but we aren't. It's much further ahead. My watch died long ago
but somehow I have my phone—that's right Jordan gave it me earlier in the day
when I wanted to text my son. I have my phone in hand and I keep checking the
time. Gerard seems unsure if we will make the cutoff but maybe he's just trying
to keep me moving. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We descend
off Mystery Mountain down toward the Poplar River and its sound of rushing
water freezes in my throat. That lovely sound makes me cry. It means we're
home. Or maybe we've been home every step of the way, because in these moments
this is what it feels I was meant to do, even if there is little meaning to it.
We are moving to the finish. Gerard starts to peel off and I say, "Oh no.
You're sticking with me man." I am hoarse and yelling through the finish
in the dark. Norman, the guy I talked with about Puerto Rico yesterday near the
Baptism River, must have just finished, and he gives me a big bear hug. Someone
hands me a buckle. "I see you're thinking about maybe taking up some trail
running," John Storkamp says. I need to sit down. Jordan helps me find a
chair. He puts a coat on me. Runners are coming in amid shouts and lights and
camera flashes, but I'm looking at the ground. The ability to focus on anything
is far gone. I'm in disbelief. I made it to Lutsen. On foot. With eight minutes
to spare. I should say we made it to Lutsen, because Gerard and Jordan and Jake
Hegge and TJ and Jason and the Storkamps and an army of fellow runners and an
army of volunteers all made the long march with me and helped along the way.
This is never an I thing, and that's the humbling feeling I get in that chair. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8-rma6EDTnlFCrNqEcMmjF-WWOLhuNVGq5CfaCod2TD4EYLbv7G_KevQVXsY8t_4P4kVoVZu9sM6cE4Smscfyl6o3YS8gDlB_3Su8FMWrmAvTv3xtUQS0aQI7kxnLdOKTgX6mspA-a_97s6FEaI1L_6_NUctM1IucAYKNSRTuBRnCHOlUo8wVFdF/s3500/SRP_SRR54049-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2334" data-original-width="3500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8-rma6EDTnlFCrNqEcMmjF-WWOLhuNVGq5CfaCod2TD4EYLbv7G_KevQVXsY8t_4P4kVoVZu9sM6cE4Smscfyl6o3YS8gDlB_3Su8FMWrmAvTv3xtUQS0aQI7kxnLdOKTgX6mspA-a_97s6FEaI1L_6_NUctM1IucAYKNSRTuBRnCHOlUo8wVFdF/w400-h266/SRP_SRR54049-ZF-9791-78225-1-001-006.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Scott Rokis<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One thing
I've learned about Jordan is that he has an incredible talent with finding
ideal parking spaces. It's happened repeatedly for the last couple days, from
the start at Gooseberry to Lutsen. The car is such a short walk away and I ask
him to help me get there and turn the heat on, seat warmers too please.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Soon we are
back in the condo and I sit on the edge of the bed and peel my socks off, a
second layer of skin and mud, and the smell hits me. Whose feet are these
anyway? I call for Jordan and laugh as his face turns when he enters the room.
These feet will need healing. And a shower. That mud is deep under the skin. So
deep it's in my blood. A part of me, as this race is. I lean back, feel the
body that's convinced I'm still moving, and within a couple breaths I'm asleep. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7g24l-tnsYhwa8RkzDxswc5_CZRJI-BXtCfteGSl-p08IHT8tsJF1HMWFMd9HfpQcHhLAl4e1SVdl5Q1tysT-JQFY4dauXxxkvIxPWGoy21RANYkycEGwJG_p6SsuTzKo5dzlzhjrxAH-Q8WJK6cdl4TUVygzz__Uc4K33OgUVhDBrTc5tftiSLY7/s3088/IMG_3143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3088" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7g24l-tnsYhwa8RkzDxswc5_CZRJI-BXtCfteGSl-p08IHT8tsJF1HMWFMd9HfpQcHhLAl4e1SVdl5Q1tysT-JQFY4dauXxxkvIxPWGoy21RANYkycEGwJG_p6SsuTzKo5dzlzhjrxAH-Q8WJK6cdl4TUVygzz__Uc4K33OgUVhDBrTc5tftiSLY7/w400-h300/IMG_3143.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p><br /><br /><br />Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-79869091087543702292018-05-23T11:14:00.002-07:002018-05-23T13:07:59.231-07:00Isle Royale Runcation 2018 (First Boat)<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<i>Presence is experienced in a particpative way, outside the mind.</i> Richard Rohr. The Naked Now.</div>
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Jason Husveth and I had planned to take the first boat from Grand Portage to Isle Royale and base camp at McCargoe Cove, but Isle Royale had different plans. The first boat was delayed a week due to ice on Lake Superior, and we were both lucky enough to have the flexibility to get on the second first boat. When we arrived at the dock, we were told they still couldn't get into McCargoe Cove because of the ice, so we chose to get dropped off at the Windigo station instead and stay at Washington Creek, which still offers lots of running options.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cmVqVV5VeK4YHBH2Wrb-Gzb0Xp6y8POU0Ccum-a3Lzzm9MC3o2EifRXOrsIOmlOrh5Y6EJunE2iW0xbWmwmRArtT0Vp2cA45YVYST_BnoIomdd6Kg7X0o-M2Y8anAFhva0nMNUz4LoY/s1600/P5120304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cmVqVV5VeK4YHBH2Wrb-Gzb0Xp6y8POU0Ccum-a3Lzzm9MC3o2EifRXOrsIOmlOrh5Y6EJunE2iW0xbWmwmRArtT0Vp2cA45YVYST_BnoIomdd6Kg7X0o-M2Y8anAFhva0nMNUz4LoY/s400/P5120304.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grand Portage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We didn't realize it until the boat started moving out of Grand Portage, but a thin veil of ice covered the water.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4juN7oGwzgPa3gbUeLJW3u5bVkHCrS0PvzKzSqBphZRffh0V2qgscH8Ysyd8j_P59OaqwnI_UOPi_Fk0fi9sk8eyE0E8P1qZKK1x80578TnLaNkFfd3kLx_-j4CFeAaq-JCRLuVo9c4/s1600/P5120308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4juN7oGwzgPa3gbUeLJW3u5bVkHCrS0PvzKzSqBphZRffh0V2qgscH8Ysyd8j_P59OaqwnI_UOPi_Fk0fi9sk8eyE0E8P1qZKK1x80578TnLaNkFfd3kLx_-j4CFeAaq-JCRLuVo9c4/s400/P5120308.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping Giant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
The first crossing is always a festive one. The crowd included researchers (mostly interns), faces familiar from other first crossings, and some first timers. I was surprised there weren't more people on the boat. I imagine the late spring and postponement of the first boat had kept some away.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YcBJgZZLvf_ONtkUNvJKh4AyGUzPWoG8VV1JgBshgasuSK67_-JTEbQMaxBv5YcXlJL07ukxIYpY-_Lwnt5LT4ZHLPGyjt9rykBW6HluD9XAFVd8-w8xfQUuzJgmHl2IueCFfnR8HJs/s1600/P5120310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YcBJgZZLvf_ONtkUNvJKh4AyGUzPWoG8VV1JgBshgasuSK67_-JTEbQMaxBv5YcXlJL07ukxIYpY-_Lwnt5LT4ZHLPGyjt9rykBW6HluD9XAFVd8-w8xfQUuzJgmHl2IueCFfnR8HJs/s400/P5120310.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crossing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The rangers and researchers had been dropped off (from the Michigan or Rock Harbor side) at Windigo the day before we arrived and their boats had broken up lots of ice, but I was still surprised at the amount of ice floating in the harbor. A big chunk floated between the dock and our boat and the captain had to maneuver the boat around a few times to get the ice out of the way. Ranger Val and her husband and Rolf and Candy Peterson and a couple other people met us.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVpz03Nh1i2yMElNbAMBY5-pfqJyNH51iotwNrR9kQre0cZkWp0RaqtG5v33DKqaqrMq8mFpU5NmFhpM3h1xcDrFGT0OnnQ5bZwhm0i0LHJroujfJAgDDuRN7BQQZFymrfVp6TRBHPMg/s1600/P5120337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVpz03Nh1i2yMElNbAMBY5-pfqJyNH51iotwNrR9kQre0cZkWp0RaqtG5v33DKqaqrMq8mFpU5NmFhpM3h1xcDrFGT0OnnQ5bZwhm0i0LHJroujfJAgDDuRN7BQQZFymrfVp6TRBHPMg/s400/P5120337.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrival</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After our "Leave No Trace" talk with Ranger Val, we settled into our shelter. Jason took a nap so I gave him some space and ran a ways up the Greenstone. When I came back, he was waking up, and we wandered up to Grace Overlook. He wanted to look for Fairy Bells. It's a rare plant in our region of the country. Very rare. It mostly occurs in the Rockies. We found lots of them, many in flower already.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_q2JwW6GKCLMgs0y9x_0e30rXOpvngGDjKOUnXCbciqqJMCQz7WQ676zzPyrCab2ElmjlegHEfw_VFbU2FIrk8WNBDw_rDF_ggv0naAuoD6tC6lB0NmwhxjMZSHa-3JvII_5MfbOHyKA/s1600/P5120434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_q2JwW6GKCLMgs0y9x_0e30rXOpvngGDjKOUnXCbciqqJMCQz7WQ676zzPyrCab2ElmjlegHEfw_VFbU2FIrk8WNBDw_rDF_ggv0naAuoD6tC6lB0NmwhxjMZSHa-3JvII_5MfbOHyKA/s400/P5120434.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace Overlook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tNgI1m-0f9qMPDK_K2ph9v6PDg2iPCNibkWMiyv0f8biHpaxL5yRniNGOkaX4Of257j92oZTSxQji4ITgDPg0US17AlFQBjnDIUzxf1QqGAtKpwjldFSAwuFCkbrFBUYKU7jjyZsoYw/s1600/P5120440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3tNgI1m-0f9qMPDK_K2ph9v6PDg2iPCNibkWMiyv0f8biHpaxL5yRniNGOkaX4Of257j92oZTSxQji4ITgDPg0US17AlFQBjnDIUzxf1QqGAtKpwjldFSAwuFCkbrFBUYKU7jjyZsoYw/s400/P5120440.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace Overlook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRLDiPiXsVZOfuoLh5AQEsTCFb-Z4AG4an6a7OSYsSGmJrsJBXOHAqDsvT2AVPFeB9iUyyTvf6oWLDGT0M5fY2ZNQWEW9OwykTPTPGw0uxh7B5crr4RnZ_6awpaFCJBwEW7QRKb_L2lE/s1600/P5120453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRLDiPiXsVZOfuoLh5AQEsTCFb-Z4AG4an6a7OSYsSGmJrsJBXOHAqDsvT2AVPFeB9iUyyTvf6oWLDGT0M5fY2ZNQWEW9OwykTPTPGw0uxh7B5crr4RnZ_6awpaFCJBwEW7QRKb_L2lE/s400/P5120453.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace Overlook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN-1fXiHwzAGg2aV0o8L0-19jMDSpXZjzPbXn7qRVZLNdaN9AE_CwdRIms_k9_OTQUi7Ujbsnei8fMUduY-aYtKa3n8Vei9zsNHix4mlQHIErh2qsd8CnPTgFpoKst27TipbnBIqRvsnY/s1600/P5120465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN-1fXiHwzAGg2aV0o8L0-19jMDSpXZjzPbXn7qRVZLNdaN9AE_CwdRIms_k9_OTQUi7Ujbsnei8fMUduY-aYtKa3n8Vei9zsNHix4mlQHIErh2qsd8CnPTgFpoKst27TipbnBIqRvsnY/s400/P5120465.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace Overlook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We also ran the Huginnin Cove Loop that afternoon. It has a mile or so of trail that runs along the north coast that's some of my favorite on the island, so mossy and green with dramatic rock and ice filled views and vistas to the Sleeping Giant and Thunder Bay area.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGC3chDbYwMk0vAW8QcY4KX8H1eLLBqg16BVWjw2Xbk8aVDnrgN6BBMmRqqXgz9NMJQfDXgPLQEAONoNejmvEkkZyeQ7Rmi8sgzmk5-jW5rE6Rk_h-x3TMgrtGgbTfWDBNvNmvSk5Cvo/s1600/P5120389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGC3chDbYwMk0vAW8QcY4KX8H1eLLBqg16BVWjw2Xbk8aVDnrgN6BBMmRqqXgz9NMJQfDXgPLQEAONoNejmvEkkZyeQ7Rmi8sgzmk5-jW5rE6Rk_h-x3TMgrtGgbTfWDBNvNmvSk5Cvo/s400/P5120389.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huginnin Cove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEdwEF2njPLXkERPBb7DYIo81LP3aZwbgPSLf9QfMz2JyN5FPTm2lGD-u65epvqvhV5R8Wco7HoOVjgPV31dK6keH5WZ-J11S46AZZzpsywGPdp-XydbPX-SYt5YGe8OAj1MBJZyOJ-Fo/s1600/P5120396.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEdwEF2njPLXkERPBb7DYIo81LP3aZwbgPSLf9QfMz2JyN5FPTm2lGD-u65epvqvhV5R8Wco7HoOVjgPV31dK6keH5WZ-J11S46AZZzpsywGPdp-XydbPX-SYt5YGe8OAj1MBJZyOJ-Fo/s400/P5120396.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huginnin trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivo6gwEBwn-TwgKPzZxwxL3dRLsSS_zjgQ08XtqKoy9moCyUO_9v487QAsDUhDyelRboPNTQJG_L1GDKn7iA5Hxa6NMq-WYtqckJdbVIZ8TavNUeQJ8jv72JdfUsyedDB4Ul9A-cyniEQ/s1600/P5170108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivo6gwEBwn-TwgKPzZxwxL3dRLsSS_zjgQ08XtqKoy9moCyUO_9v487QAsDUhDyelRboPNTQJG_L1GDKn7iA5Hxa6NMq-WYtqckJdbVIZ8TavNUeQJ8jv72JdfUsyedDB4Ul9A-cyniEQ/s400/P5170108.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huginnin trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZIGc1RXo5VaYa8aGIq9x9tewcmJigWnLZSpEk4tUqLr8tJAQEYprkcbpXL7oj2D8ExZXnqyliTgh-k3fQGipSz_4f7Wr2pCeQWvpDzSHhrkh7hs6jDwmrPK5v0wWeSxSgHgqGlHPEZs/s1600/P5170111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZIGc1RXo5VaYa8aGIq9x9tewcmJigWnLZSpEk4tUqLr8tJAQEYprkcbpXL7oj2D8ExZXnqyliTgh-k3fQGipSz_4f7Wr2pCeQWvpDzSHhrkh7hs6jDwmrPK5v0wWeSxSgHgqGlHPEZs/s400/P5170111.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the way back to Washington Creek we startled a moose that had been browsing just off the trail. Without much wolf predation, the moose population is ballooning. So is the beaver population. We saw several moose, more than I have on any previous trip to the island. Maybe it has something to do with being on island so early, but none of them would stick around for photography. Instead, they all ran away like embarrassed teenagers. Ranger Val said the moose would be calving soon, and they all calve at the same time, possibly timed by temperatures and the amount of vegetation there is to eat. I can't imagine what kind of energy that creates, all those moose giving birth at the same time across the island. I wonder if that kind of energy affects people. It must be a palpable thing that is easily felt.</div>
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I was tired and had run nearly 20 miles that day. When I use the word "run" here, you need to understand that we are moving quickly along the trail, enjoying our interaction with the landscape, but we aren't in any kind of hurry. We're not afraid to stop and stare in wonder at whatever fancies our attention, passing clouds, the shape of ice, fresh tracks, or orchids Jason points out.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzcZGsjnt_SSIwdTm51S9Kkbw72Fmkt2V8KxS9MFUslRxSjlveXsvP4b0tuAU9hGPZf-IxHLttgAofqGfm_STbTyuDDbFQHkU8dV2lyefa6FriNi0ZjfsDm31hDX1Dejjm8GXm6o6j0U/s1600/IMG_0195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzcZGsjnt_SSIwdTm51S9Kkbw72Fmkt2V8KxS9MFUslRxSjlveXsvP4b0tuAU9hGPZf-IxHLttgAofqGfm_STbTyuDDbFQHkU8dV2lyefa6FriNi0ZjfsDm31hDX1Dejjm8GXm6o6j0U/s400/IMG_0195.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washington Creek sunset</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Sunday we had a chill morning in camp, then went to Feldtmann Lake and Rainbow Cove. The trail was overgrown with thimbleberry plants that sliced at our shins. We had to climb over and under and around some downed trees. These early season issues that we encounter before the trail crews have cleared trail are an easy trade off for the views through trees that haven't leafed out yet.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5IniY-QRGYzG5MNZ73N6Nz7DZKOI_zkgJDLI-RZW6ZHRdcV1sAWoAq3jV659JFKwC8jgxjYP4_k5K4CviW2ZPT2MwFeKi-xt4E22_NTEoqReh-oPB9twfrbZm2Um-HoSEK0X7zaIVwnU/s1600/IMG_6112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5IniY-QRGYzG5MNZ73N6Nz7DZKOI_zkgJDLI-RZW6ZHRdcV1sAWoAq3jV659JFKwC8jgxjYP4_k5K4CviW2ZPT2MwFeKi-xt4E22_NTEoqReh-oPB9twfrbZm2Um-HoSEK0X7zaIVwnU/s400/IMG_6112.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feldtmann Lake</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once we left the main trail for the spur to Rainbow Cove, I figured it would be freezing when we got there. The wind was blowing cold off the lake, like opening a freezer door, but I was pleasantly surprised to find Rainbow Cove protected from the wind and warm, though there were some huge chunks of snow under the gravel. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-M17uQwiPcR7a-MsGxhGKrM0eezGXTW1A8ttuPviVBuoecD8myua2fIACFC_3q9dwd5pLHnECglmfE6b2EGOP9M5IUP9Ofp213ggUso8EVX9I8UKvyqPoGjD-QT5Wdz8-dL4tjuODEU/s1600/IMG_8009+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-M17uQwiPcR7a-MsGxhGKrM0eezGXTW1A8ttuPviVBuoecD8myua2fIACFC_3q9dwd5pLHnECglmfE6b2EGOP9M5IUP9Ofp213ggUso8EVX9I8UKvyqPoGjD-QT5Wdz8-dL4tjuODEU/s400/IMG_8009+4.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow Cove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's easy to lose yourself for awhile here. The sound of the waves tumbling rocks. The heat from that sun. The wind whispering trees behind you. Slight fatigue. Soon it feels like a lazy dream.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGKIeQAbOQk-jXSLb1Q3yLHQO7rr_dly2h_25dI6ijdqNbmaptUHoDTO7UeMWEGyoBX0Oh805gJ0UQvrX1-Stz4WYB9uLYsZyhrq_Xg9t6AZNnFA7QZaFzJSzmI2FGOxDz6xEzztdJJo/s1600/IMG_8235+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGKIeQAbOQk-jXSLb1Q3yLHQO7rr_dly2h_25dI6ijdqNbmaptUHoDTO7UeMWEGyoBX0Oh805gJ0UQvrX1-Stz4WYB9uLYsZyhrq_Xg9t6AZNnFA7QZaFzJSzmI2FGOxDz6xEzztdJJo/s400/IMG_8235+3.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow Cove</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I chose to run around Feldtmann Lake and up to Feldtmann Ridge while Jason hiked down the beach and bushwhacked back to the main trail. He likes exploring the plant life in those swampy areas. On Feldtmann Ridge, I saw two moose, a shaggy one on my way out and the other on my way back. I enjoyed the open ridgetop running but some of the lower trail wore me down on the way back, climbing around trees and those thimbleberry plants that left my shins bloodied. I hit 25 miles for the day.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDC6-Y08qZZ6T5EY33CBTb7nMwu2W9_faTkfyxC7g7MjdqHdC87dzwEudb0yT3SQ0Dx1im-jVTBX9H4iBRJ-7wEL2Z1VarXrNGCl-hktdVN9IHlZ4jutOkDSlRzSiEmc48QgJQ-Dc_dk/s1600/IMG_7889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDC6-Y08qZZ6T5EY33CBTb7nMwu2W9_faTkfyxC7g7MjdqHdC87dzwEudb0yT3SQ0Dx1im-jVTBX9H4iBRJ-7wEL2Z1VarXrNGCl-hktdVN9IHlZ4jutOkDSlRzSiEmc48QgJQ-Dc_dk/s400/IMG_7889.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feldtmann Lake</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Monday we hit the Minong Trail. We had talked earlier about the possibility of making it to north Lake Desor but we were actually smart and listened to our bodies and turned around well before that. We started by power hiking and that felt hard to me, but when the legs are tired can be the best time to run so we tried that some too, off and on.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBxL1jwFpayDoHPeBuPATlWsFi3Ma8boe6zuv-jf8kVnzYuHQ0LFT_fDnqXbpAtDcWdwXwM0nhNRxrbm-Fm2l4GKnBX5mgSf-oh8Cai1fCDpOn4yS9elq_qDmS0-Th5MU0HHBVrkrhyk/s1600/IMG_0213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIBxL1jwFpayDoHPeBuPATlWsFi3Ma8boe6zuv-jf8kVnzYuHQ0LFT_fDnqXbpAtDcWdwXwM0nhNRxrbm-Fm2l4GKnBX5mgSf-oh8Cai1fCDpOn4yS9elq_qDmS0-Th5MU0HHBVrkrhyk/s400/IMG_0213.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
We scared up two moose on the way out. The sun felt nice and warm too, once we got inland a ways.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJN8W6QHsDrF71DTIi3D1JoyLz9_a9GUnpCn7VAsZLnDVpmQoycddnBejzf05_6mt6NDpvSL495DsM6YN3TPQV66bCiJREJnu5Hl_qTdosGbbS7aSlz1clRm99VQU5d9p17rGWkhuycKY/s1600/P5120346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJN8W6QHsDrF71DTIi3D1JoyLz9_a9GUnpCn7VAsZLnDVpmQoycddnBejzf05_6mt6NDpvSL495DsM6YN3TPQV66bCiJREJnu5Hl_qTdosGbbS7aSlz1clRm99VQU5d9p17rGWkhuycKY/s400/P5120346.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burr</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Mondays are my day to run stairs (I think Jason does this everyday with weights around his neck and rocks around his ankles), so the up and down nature of the Minong trail was perfect for this day.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJOEa9GZPMt-9uDDf_wGSgl7nzVSXMh-dNJWoacaL6JwubeKJq2_LWLmLD8Gv4Ntm-_HhggukI5UbKYdxbgwOumIeDHkH9S-vrXxcLEXdYTNU4Lx7pfFaRIDovjYY9i8I5PIcSBNFcAA/s1600/P5140021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJOEa9GZPMt-9uDDf_wGSgl7nzVSXMh-dNJWoacaL6JwubeKJq2_LWLmLD8Gv4Ntm-_HhggukI5UbKYdxbgwOumIeDHkH9S-vrXxcLEXdYTNU4Lx7pfFaRIDovjYY9i8I5PIcSBNFcAA/s400/P5140021.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boardwalk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
People talk about running the Greenstone in a day but I think a really fun and challenging run would be to try the Minong in a day.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Qh9B5_S5PTxVQdqklRJMfIYaLjcGmr1aHreYzjCzxcIqg_eNuql2YhP5GF6SJbiFsDydun9dNdRbwNkZH_ylCpQsdclS68NMTmdCnkUGHQxVgZMJlZvn2g5qCyDL7HN7ecqlM8F-jIU/s1600/P5140012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Qh9B5_S5PTxVQdqklRJMfIYaLjcGmr1aHreYzjCzxcIqg_eNuql2YhP5GF6SJbiFsDydun9dNdRbwNkZH_ylCpQsdclS68NMTmdCnkUGHQxVgZMJlZvn2g5qCyDL7HN7ecqlM8F-jIU/s400/P5140012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beaver dam</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Petersons were overseeing a group of people studying beavers and they were learning that with so little predation the beavers were wandering very far for food, much farther than they would anywhere else. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rPpybKBXfQNRZtQEsiz-sqRlmt9nMDpkHS7flIolpnTl6PvMCcUJCTahubPRrPVVzgxVWIqHjyXDfHsptMuUiC7UZ1KTgP8YBUvYZZDAq5DKsRCypz6JSZ12BILLucp6ZEixJ5Rgm1U/s1600/P5140025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rPpybKBXfQNRZtQEsiz-sqRlmt9nMDpkHS7flIolpnTl6PvMCcUJCTahubPRrPVVzgxVWIqHjyXDfHsptMuUiC7UZ1KTgP8YBUvYZZDAq5DKsRCypz6JSZ12BILLucp6ZEixJ5Rgm1U/s400/P5140025.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minong Ridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I love running the Minong Ridge, going from cairn to cairn, hopping from rock to rock.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWc_nb7Sev6KAWVsmzWTc9Z7NYz1wGAxKrKIbYfSCy_MNFu4lkv9NNkjnU0z2SG_osy1DmJgwk1QWw2x8jxx6SHh_Pv71Vg4ISwbXSe6bLlAoeX_yece6LaST0C-nLASk8cEh4LfLU4E/s1600/P5140038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWc_nb7Sev6KAWVsmzWTc9Z7NYz1wGAxKrKIbYfSCy_MNFu4lkv9NNkjnU0z2SG_osy1DmJgwk1QWw2x8jxx6SHh_Pv71Vg4ISwbXSe6bLlAoeX_yece6LaST0C-nLASk8cEh4LfLU4E/s400/P5140038.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minong Ridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cYEMGw22Jsoyq_2eDSWyZADkh2OqQZUhq4zPAFNzgq5ZM_OuZOG7Rm0QUWPzgohKGw1-su7ALCk3heRdBjq5iSFW3NvQ8NIrLoNVwxo7gJ5ZIbsTBdBDqoKv3eF_Th6fqzdv4Iat65k/s1600/P5140039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cYEMGw22Jsoyq_2eDSWyZADkh2OqQZUhq4zPAFNzgq5ZM_OuZOG7Rm0QUWPzgohKGw1-su7ALCk3heRdBjq5iSFW3NvQ8NIrLoNVwxo7gJ5ZIbsTBdBDqoKv3eF_Th6fqzdv4Iat65k/s400/P5140039.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minong Ridge</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0h7a5Z6dRsxk3AhLzH5pSET8xMa4h-ZKFc9nWkNIL4c3DK5zXExs8K-bEpGv9D9w6hk4v5wxRW0By57c2tiW4KZTSmHWQc3LZ6K0aKx1tXO09LoNTGNYxdHB6LkjAtWE7FAxDW-hccjE/s1600/P5140046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0h7a5Z6dRsxk3AhLzH5pSET8xMa4h-ZKFc9nWkNIL4c3DK5zXExs8K-bEpGv9D9w6hk4v5wxRW0By57c2tiW4KZTSmHWQc3LZ6K0aKx1tXO09LoNTGNYxdHB6LkjAtWE7FAxDW-hccjE/s400/P5140046.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the way back Jason said he was going to lag. I figured he wanted to do some bushwhacking so I kept running. Unfortunately, he never saw the note I left him on the trail...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQikg29JGil5_RZSVF8WjOkzJQF0HCGbyJGTFjwgE8a-XHpLFk7_7tAGV5KToZ74oiSjuSn5B0pLXtfh6wyfg4QUfftm4GebeVtOTEvRZX3dp2cWQuB9vr0KpjOMmq-Tx2yhc7WThPze0/s1600/P5140036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQikg29JGil5_RZSVF8WjOkzJQF0HCGbyJGTFjwgE8a-XHpLFk7_7tAGV5KToZ74oiSjuSn5B0pLXtfh6wyfg4QUfftm4GebeVtOTEvRZX3dp2cWQuB9vr0KpjOMmq-Tx2yhc7WThPze0/s320/P5140036.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For the second time, I heard sandhill cranes on my way back to camp.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmv04bUt3rpQ4hAXaqw7RvI_rlmhv2NwhGEnvabfJK3gU143G3CVjR1Ib03gD1AN_A9_KNQ56dylgO7XvqILYTIqvkzkRnEM8rWFx8IRCN-2uy-sOXE94I6GyuWBeqPRtFta0SxiWVEo/s1600/P5160667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmv04bUt3rpQ4hAXaqw7RvI_rlmhv2NwhGEnvabfJK3gU143G3CVjR1Ib03gD1AN_A9_KNQ56dylgO7XvqILYTIqvkzkRnEM8rWFx8IRCN-2uy-sOXE94I6GyuWBeqPRtFta0SxiWVEo/s400/P5160667.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washington Creek</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIbHQB2b6bH4yeSM2JURIFKjBArAD_9P4uXCs7c0oPByry7SfmuIB554c_BzN7Hw2GQir6rBV-Sdfoxrqh_AWyOWmXbQL05YC2Gge1sl9S4eNE4Wo3JdCvWSWzV0AS74c4Of9nVD7qVo/s1600/P5160672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIbHQB2b6bH4yeSM2JURIFKjBArAD_9P4uXCs7c0oPByry7SfmuIB554c_BzN7Hw2GQir6rBV-Sdfoxrqh_AWyOWmXbQL05YC2Gge1sl9S4eNE4Wo3JdCvWSWzV0AS74c4Of9nVD7qVo/s400/P5160672.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sock-drying tree</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Tuesday we both got an early start. This would be our big mileage day. We would be doing slightly different plans, both mostly along the Greenstone Trail. Jason was going farther than me. He packed a bivy bag in case he wanted to sleep on the ground somewhere, while my plan was to run about 20 miles out and turn around and make it back with enough daylight to make dinner. I left a few minutes before Jason. I scared a few moose as I ascended the ridge on the way to the Island Mine junction. The leaves on the trail are dry and crunchy and I'm sure many moose around the island heard me long before they saw me. This trail is where I can really appreciate the spring views--at times I could see water on both my left and right. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7Cb87J9G5Q5-jjy70x9_SL8L7za8d4D6RgAf8RImDrgibnXmpCn-MTbILkPzyohKxyyGc_7celavnFh1Sn89CBYR9lLY9Eodf_z1YhLksI0boqNMk15a2feXF327sRqvvoDUheKNgTU/s1600/P5140007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7Cb87J9G5Q5-jjy70x9_SL8L7za8d4D6RgAf8RImDrgibnXmpCn-MTbILkPzyohKxyyGc_7celavnFh1Sn89CBYR9lLY9Eodf_z1YhLksI0boqNMk15a2feXF327sRqvvoDUheKNgTU/s400/P5140007.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XWciPQ80VvlMAe0bEpHPD-4-2OHIK5fIEqntS1sEjB0cplp3SqJe-5L5LRnrEoIXQePkqwFj33FxIq8z3T5BU8gQGo3y4XOelnnfwe7bIlx9xpXsM8aXvsbUdp_Qe-2FnGWAFeqNin0/s1600/P5140016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XWciPQ80VvlMAe0bEpHPD-4-2OHIK5fIEqntS1sEjB0cplp3SqJe-5L5LRnrEoIXQePkqwFj33FxIq8z3T5BU8gQGo3y4XOelnnfwe7bIlx9xpXsM8aXvsbUdp_Qe-2FnGWAFeqNin0/s400/P5140016.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkg9N8k8Oht1n7CUVw4wedcPsBeVdUxPu7FZRHXEce359L6_jPiD22GooR8suQI3Sh3giub7p3mA5bryKCpTndNhBzodi8UI0YVLVL3VdESuf14qCR-M-JkqXEPzeEBoCgTiQxAn1e1A/s1600/P5140589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkg9N8k8Oht1n7CUVw4wedcPsBeVdUxPu7FZRHXEce359L6_jPiD22GooR8suQI3Sh3giub7p3mA5bryKCpTndNhBzodi8UI0YVLVL3VdESuf14qCR-M-JkqXEPzeEBoCgTiQxAn1e1A/s400/P5140589.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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At Hatchet Lake I took the spur down to the lake, around it, and up towards the Minong. When my watch hit 20 miles, I saw a stack of boards that had been dropped off by helicopter (I assume) on a ridge and I climbed up there and sat on the boards and ate a candy bar. I saw a moose trotting away on another ridge.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLu6wc4wEHjpati7b25I5p5Tf4AWOoreLJZrifD5S-W7g2N0Z2nH_DY4J6Yqkbrg9beFxPTRNLFP8sTH5rubcpGKmxdK_UCk2rPb_XUlDytxRUNs6_BCCTpuxg0zWi1OjhdztZWIvG8Y/s1600/P5150071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLu6wc4wEHjpati7b25I5p5Tf4AWOoreLJZrifD5S-W7g2N0Z2nH_DY4J6Yqkbrg9beFxPTRNLFP8sTH5rubcpGKmxdK_UCk2rPb_XUlDytxRUNs6_BCCTpuxg0zWi1OjhdztZWIvG8Y/s400/P5150071.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the Greenstone</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrTzoSnrqIc9RQP6-QeRAUpX4jj5OCl1DbQNCUbOxapqnBb0gquogC-vJKN-vm-AqRZlb7GphHSHNC8UE-2DhKwGRLCw_7aeNl_m4Vke4uUIZQh57mL67POlKhxqs6FQCjQve-ejTiow/s1600/P5150077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrTzoSnrqIc9RQP6-QeRAUpX4jj5OCl1DbQNCUbOxapqnBb0gquogC-vJKN-vm-AqRZlb7GphHSHNC8UE-2DhKwGRLCw_7aeNl_m4Vke4uUIZQh57mL67POlKhxqs6FQCjQve-ejTiow/s400/P5150077.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hatchet Lake</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I climbed down from the ridge and drank from a fast moving creek, although I could see a beaver while I was drinking. I also refilled my water from Hatchet Lake before climbing back to the Greenstone. I saw a handful of people on the Greenstone, including Jason. Jason was planning to go beyond Todd Harbor before turning around. He gave me some iodine for my water (I know you should filter it too). It was a lift to see him.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-5i30UV_Jp_mw0QKDM7RwVkE7g2E0Rg-S8_b54HUJSqA87fnQHRN2NEc6luyndkHfmsCtFGhwqFtzBzkjJDcGjebxeiP-HJvOuovMVW1DD61eE1gYg7h1dMLTq00EKgYkBBMqI2hgto/s1600/P5150083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-5i30UV_Jp_mw0QKDM7RwVkE7g2E0Rg-S8_b54HUJSqA87fnQHRN2NEc6luyndkHfmsCtFGhwqFtzBzkjJDcGjebxeiP-HJvOuovMVW1DD61eE1gYg7h1dMLTq00EKgYkBBMqI2hgto/s400/P5150083.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dude</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I felt surprisingly good on the way back. I met a few hikers who had been on our boat. I saw a lot of ice on Siskiwit Lake. I stopped and called Lisa from Mount Desor--it was so great to hear her voice.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdI5BjuZ5sAtX8ro1R4bSg4TKyRviXd0pPHouGl3Q3fGLmwDfNd5YoTqICi0dQlswtt6Ze9U5a4QlarlQZRjsphDau1LOS9Oi-nbgZjUMoPddKDYLnCksmLOOfwzgg8TMv2UHZQT3U_00/s1600/P5150065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdI5BjuZ5sAtX8ro1R4bSg4TKyRviXd0pPHouGl3Q3fGLmwDfNd5YoTqICi0dQlswtt6Ze9U5a4QlarlQZRjsphDau1LOS9Oi-nbgZjUMoPddKDYLnCksmLOOfwzgg8TMv2UHZQT3U_00/s400/P5150065.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWu9IHeoIwxsv6Qe5yLhCuzj47pcPFk0J5uG-9EtTHkOe9BQVK5sndgYV55n1QIWJjEMVEgInGF4O3rt0scbXNyr9ZCC99E1nRim3Zrv6hN3XuJxsM5dv-xt_w1ICjo8Lqc6awXvJNAg/s1600/P5150068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWu9IHeoIwxsv6Qe5yLhCuzj47pcPFk0J5uG-9EtTHkOe9BQVK5sndgYV55n1QIWJjEMVEgInGF4O3rt0scbXNyr9ZCC99E1nRim3Zrv6hN3XuJxsM5dv-xt_w1ICjo8Lqc6awXvJNAg/s400/P5150068.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">wolf track</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I saw several wolf tracks on the Greenstone.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpuluTcuyVlMZd25ULAplFePOUmvAjbrWWm5HS6pevtP8OpqFgmKdepGL8fucPQ9ps5_JslGjpK8kvOkyHVO5TIqN7Nby03hQ4CQuDG2zalqsQHrKEWs9l4ta77GNZDl136c5o4dBc5U/s1600/P5150091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpuluTcuyVlMZd25ULAplFePOUmvAjbrWWm5HS6pevtP8OpqFgmKdepGL8fucPQ9ps5_JslGjpK8kvOkyHVO5TIqN7Nby03hQ4CQuDG2zalqsQHrKEWs9l4ta77GNZDl136c5o4dBc5U/s400/P5150091.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hepatica</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzuBdXOOiPl_MTCuYNDtYhiyEyUxQpHMIc5MEwaE7aRubr-fHayO4hTOi3AxxxFPum98L4bxWApgEf9YGP-o-Ab1MGFk6-87IoQk6fk0_84N4v6kBLTEy4FzSls1c2btQFJ2_MtMEags/s1600/P5150092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzuBdXOOiPl_MTCuYNDtYhiyEyUxQpHMIc5MEwaE7aRubr-fHayO4hTOi3AxxxFPum98L4bxWApgEf9YGP-o-Ab1MGFk6-87IoQk6fk0_84N4v6kBLTEy4FzSls1c2btQFJ2_MtMEags/s400/P5150092.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
By the time I got to the Island Mine junction, I knew it was a downhill slide back to Washington Harbor. My feet were a bit sore but my legs were moving well. This whole trail was so much more runnable than anything else we had done. Despite the tired legs and feet, I felt like I was floating in. There is a place on this trail that's full of spring beauties, as far as you can see, and it's one of my favorite spots.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Rdb-ndwcY_4uFVCuQP8xfCPTjF-qGfrNIYkG8_ghwKNCMZgiKr5kjv2-AnF3Cx_ThlnGl1lxqDI1YDnBWvluNJYuW3Tq7TtJriu3WToJWZyhvVPAOhPnZbx4gE0PMrK4Y-eYc8QiGlE/s1600/P5160655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Rdb-ndwcY_4uFVCuQP8xfCPTjF-qGfrNIYkG8_ghwKNCMZgiKr5kjv2-AnF3Cx_ThlnGl1lxqDI1YDnBWvluNJYuW3Tq7TtJriu3WToJWZyhvVPAOhPnZbx4gE0PMrK4Y-eYc8QiGlE/s400/P5160655.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I often fall when I'm trail running, but I hadn't fallen all day. I don't think I had fallen the entire trip. But with less than a quarter mile to go, near the Washington Creek group campsites, I hit a root and went down hard into some mud. I laughed and when I stood up my watch beeped, telling me I had run 40 miles. I still had plenty of daylight left, so I traded shoes and ate a few ibuprofren and walked down to the harbor to filter water. My feet really hurt, but this walking helped. I was a bit of a mess.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGED6F4bkqVSN9qmS4FfEZJmPSYDhCLSIjQ0jJDwnTp-HFOSaSOtEppkv6zy3gdh_6lR72jzgfXZsAHNP__sMp-xAUTD99aH6ARfu8JU5nJqR9uOkNCftOYA1LTEOyE-eaABvuscn_OAE/s1600/P5120483.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGED6F4bkqVSN9qmS4FfEZJmPSYDhCLSIjQ0jJDwnTp-HFOSaSOtEppkv6zy3gdh_6lR72jzgfXZsAHNP__sMp-xAUTD99aH6ARfu8JU5nJqR9uOkNCftOYA1LTEOyE-eaABvuscn_OAE/s400/P5120483.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washington Harbor</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-M3uT3ZerNApBiezAEsag4O8Wpf5SCoiCWaBnvqBWxJ6MjOlqk0CZ-hkGViMUp6h_KQ212hfQ4c7bfJSZWlqI4Rwnq2TpW_GpXQoTgd0No_8XdjjcHbm4CkSIc9Kr4OZWgWhz9XuSqhw/s1600/P5120492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-M3uT3ZerNApBiezAEsag4O8Wpf5SCoiCWaBnvqBWxJ6MjOlqk0CZ-hkGViMUp6h_KQ212hfQ4c7bfJSZWlqI4Rwnq2TpW_GpXQoTgd0No_8XdjjcHbm4CkSIc9Kr4OZWgWhz9XuSqhw/s400/P5120492.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washington Harbor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjplr0z0TT5tB9o_7gi9nhOv4czQQpO55xCGzkjtkrNFPGUt-uldqbmO3ysO-LzSxUCt3zbf-UVFyplzuQXv-ym07MDXrySuNQAvenrfXqmyMYPy1ZfMpsg-ZmsxE_0vozhYF8Yeyp8RU/s1600/P5120497.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjplr0z0TT5tB9o_7gi9nhOv4czQQpO55xCGzkjtkrNFPGUt-uldqbmO3ysO-LzSxUCt3zbf-UVFyplzuQXv-ym07MDXrySuNQAvenrfXqmyMYPy1ZfMpsg-ZmsxE_0vozhYF8Yeyp8RU/s400/P5120497.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Washington Harbor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was about 1:30 in the morning when I heard Jason coming in. He said he was sore. He said he saw a moose's eyes reflected in his headlamp that was really something. He had had an epic adventure, and coming in in the dark had only added to it.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The next day we hung around camp and Windigo. We talked to a bunch of seventh graders from Iowa there on an extended field trip. We visited with Ranger Val. We visited with Eileen, the store lady. The store wasn't officially open yet but she let us in and let us buy snacks as long as we had the right change. We sat on the deck of the store and pounded Pepsi and Pringles. We visited with another hiker. We visited with Candy Peterson and talked about Richard Rohr and what it means to be present. It was a lovely day. I ran a couple miles in the evening to shake the legs out and took a lot of pics of the Windigo area.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkTGsC6MH2Oq2uG7erkLFR5RCsz3VWb4HAA1eONskp_cdeJdkMvO_IqIsT21WM-Va0x0LXnYTATODhDWmONUObVKISJvBTSNjHmVc7ujjr5yV9lGBN096O3jUtV2jOl13kUkT29BNqJo/s1600/P5160633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkTGsC6MH2Oq2uG7erkLFR5RCsz3VWb4HAA1eONskp_cdeJdkMvO_IqIsT21WM-Va0x0LXnYTATODhDWmONUObVKISJvBTSNjHmVc7ujjr5yV9lGBN096O3jUtV2jOl13kUkT29BNqJo/s400/P5160633.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzb8YWTyVvMQ3pxSTsz2advLH8XbAZS0JPVk28sht0kAxjZs6ku186gE7rN4CdacltkOlbRMerP2wwh0y-MgA2izKw4wqExCZwYyH_pw-pFriX4_bW5o8we_Y-N6SNlM6EqbtqImKJ3Y/s1600/P5160638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzb8YWTyVvMQ3pxSTsz2advLH8XbAZS0JPVk28sht0kAxjZs6ku186gE7rN4CdacltkOlbRMerP2wwh0y-MgA2izKw4wqExCZwYyH_pw-pFriX4_bW5o8we_Y-N6SNlM6EqbtqImKJ3Y/s400/P5160638.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisIjd3HI7CNWECPMsN-SQFyrNPzw6ivWJzLJH_n3Vtmb1lPKgpSMt6Axs3hyphenhyphenVPUvhUDYxEsD9nNiOfGvbtsGWqGISa3LuPsWWoM8XK-m8Jc-pL2IRUVMXq1IZrECqzPoHP-HNg18KdTWo/s1600/P5160641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisIjd3HI7CNWECPMsN-SQFyrNPzw6ivWJzLJH_n3Vtmb1lPKgpSMt6Axs3hyphenhyphenVPUvhUDYxEsD9nNiOfGvbtsGWqGISa3LuPsWWoM8XK-m8Jc-pL2IRUVMXq1IZrECqzPoHP-HNg18KdTWo/s400/P5160641.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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On our final day we did the Huginnin Loop again before the boat came. I left a few minutes before Jason and we ran it in opposite directions, so I got to see him halfway.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHXjp9vCQYK8evc7Cbcl4KDxaM_3i9khXgO3AYy1bTWqOfQrBlVWuA6CEm0h9zn4InWbD82km4mI8IXt89OJ5ZJUdhT1BF4IEr5EuJrtzNPGBmMIyXvhgQykH2Eu6Htq0fzBXI7CTZQg/s1600/P5170114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHXjp9vCQYK8evc7Cbcl4KDxaM_3i9khXgO3AYy1bTWqOfQrBlVWuA6CEm0h9zn4InWbD82km4mI8IXt89OJ5ZJUdhT1BF4IEr5EuJrtzNPGBmMIyXvhgQykH2Eu6Htq0fzBXI7CTZQg/s400/P5170114.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beavers</td></tr>
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Then we packed up and crossed back over to Grand Portage. It was a calm crossing. At Grand Portage, Jason took me to see the Witch Tree. Then we hit the gas station for soda, chips, and bratwursts. Then we went to Grand Marais. There we first stopped at Hughie's Tacos for their tacos that are made with a delicious fry bread shell. Then we drove a few blocks to the Dockside Fish Market for chowder and fish and chips. I guess we were hungry. Then on to Lutsen to help out with the Superior Spring Trail Races. </div>
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Once again I feel blessed to have been a part of this place for a brief time. I'll take it with me. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeuqH6D2_4h-G4_YMO52OReoaVU_v5VtnIe0c8SH4sRh7Jyo6YUrGbF4nBiP0CL2SKN-JnXfiv33gd4K70PJVGPseuq1u2YigUEjXVIGvL6P-HFEvWeZqjZ8Zwse9GWWlOO5QfhHjNxU/s1600/IMG_0217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeuqH6D2_4h-G4_YMO52OReoaVU_v5VtnIe0c8SH4sRh7Jyo6YUrGbF4nBiP0CL2SKN-JnXfiv33gd4K70PJVGPseuq1u2YigUEjXVIGvL6P-HFEvWeZqjZ8Zwse9GWWlOO5QfhHjNxU/s400/IMG_0217.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXP0r9DqFAsRLs3d5DVsAJhYGO23C1e9WbqRZeBu_kHcTIq5_G0iXxXj_VvLQHobP_xqq0YshsVWGt_ikJihTKKY0M1K90rAfnYijX-MwPbnuHSMNfTzd1QQKPAZpNEKy2vNi4LI0usjM/s1600/P5170676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXP0r9DqFAsRLs3d5DVsAJhYGO23C1e9WbqRZeBu_kHcTIq5_G0iXxXj_VvLQHobP_xqq0YshsVWGt_ikJihTKKY0M1K90rAfnYijX-MwPbnuHSMNfTzd1QQKPAZpNEKy2vNi4LI0usjM/s400/P5170676.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Witch tree</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-28269365056519992982018-01-31T10:09:00.003-08:002018-01-31T10:09:41.572-08:00Puerto Rico Christmas 2017<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-ezjGNr5g87eN3nO9wq7hllBmi2cOhDQlTscxxe6Of1g_bIcx9SoRnwQ0-mTGyl6TRFooBmKZ2b4I9q0khkBSNYHNMQrUl4l75PPT4yvLY8prvjsihYeP-tEiF7DRnep57JV2-EjV5Q/s1600/IMG_7029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-ezjGNr5g87eN3nO9wq7hllBmi2cOhDQlTscxxe6Of1g_bIcx9SoRnwQ0-mTGyl6TRFooBmKZ2b4I9q0khkBSNYHNMQrUl4l75PPT4yvLY8prvjsihYeP-tEiF7DRnep57JV2-EjV5Q/s400/IMG_7029.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street in Old San Juan</td></tr>
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A few friends have asked about our trip to Puerto Rico in December, about 100 days after Hurricanes Irma and Maria devastated the island, so I thought I'd share some pics and thoughts and experiences.<br />
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First, before the trip but after the hurricanes, we really struggled with whether we should go or not. We had a cruise planned that left from San Juan and we wanted to also spend time in Puerto Rico. We wanted to go if it was safe, and we didn't want to take resources for our vacation from those that needed things for their daily lives. We didn't want to take hotel space from relief workers, although I assumed lots of relief workers would be going home for Christmas, when we would be there. On the other hand, the island needed its tourist economy, and we would be glad to help that part restart. After watching conditions as best we could from our computers and televisions, we (me, Lisa, my mom and dad) decided to stick to the plan. It's funny, my parents do lots of disaster relief work, but they were traveling to a disaster area as tourists for a change. Lisa was having some major ankle issues from a car accident, so our walking would be limited to what she could do in her boot.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4WobMaCvtvPXYb0QJFrtmhwKssHGxLLJxgPT5gDYIbSDNX3CGlBOJYJnslHAsQpw9p3M1evWHVmoJpaQsz5ZHFpsG3zH35dVInMACgG9cK6GdMPmLNPbDrV7TVxx1hTS0AnRMkabnVU/s1600/PC170018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4WobMaCvtvPXYb0QJFrtmhwKssHGxLLJxgPT5gDYIbSDNX3CGlBOJYJnslHAsQpw9p3M1evWHVmoJpaQsz5ZHFpsG3zH35dVInMACgG9cK6GdMPmLNPbDrV7TVxx1hTS0AnRMkabnVU/s400/PC170018.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alley outside Da House</td></tr>
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We (Lisa and I) flew into <b>San Juan</b> on December 16. As the plane descended, one thing that surprised me was how much it affected me to see so many blue tarps on houses as we got low over San Juan. <br />
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We took a taxi to Old San Juan, where we stayed at <b>Da House</b>. Our cab driver said he had had power for a week or so. He said it was nice to have hot water for showers. He didn't speak favorably about the governor of Puerto Rico or about the mayor of San Juan. These sentiments seemed common with most people we talked to.<br />
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We've stayed at Da House before. I love the place. It's nothing fancy by any means, but it's not dirty or anything like that either. I'd call it quirky. It has lots of stairs and no elevator, however, something to consider if you're carrying luggage up to the fourth floor. Lisa and I hung out on the balcony while we waited for my parents. We could see cruise ships and Castillo de San Cristobal. My parents were flying in from Houston and they met us a couple hours later. I was hungry and needed mofongo, so we went around the block to a place called Punto del Visto. We've never eaten there but it was my favorite mofongo of the trip, and I ate a lot of them. It was a lovely little rooftop place, although we ate inside, which was good because it rained and everyone eventually piled inside from the deck. The dessert, an "ice cream sandwich" was amazing too. I can't even.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDiluE8n-JycwA-cH-n3b6aQ25gdJeu5_PfeLISplYYwN015a0V3q0Th2f-o_R9haYuSUKoypPvI4bFo356pBbUQi4GzgEEkztyyJ1Sez7SOIwwn4GWwbzPaxGZZlhB_t6tPSmaMeI2k/s1600/IMG_6963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDiluE8n-JycwA-cH-n3b6aQ25gdJeu5_PfeLISplYYwN015a0V3q0Th2f-o_R9haYuSUKoypPvI4bFo356pBbUQi4GzgEEkztyyJ1Sez7SOIwwn4GWwbzPaxGZZlhB_t6tPSmaMeI2k/s400/IMG_6963.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mofongo delight</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steak mofongo with garlic sauce.</td></tr>
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That night at the hotel, I heard the lady in the room across the hall wretching loudly. She sounded really sick. We had a shared balcony that you can access from our room, their room, and the hallway between us. Throughout the night, I woke to hear a loud banging sound like gunshot. At one point before sunrise, I walked around the hallway to see what the noise was. Other guests were poking heads out of their doors. I went to the balcony, saw it was the neighbor's big wooden balcony door slamming and opening from the wind. I wondered how they could sleep through that noise. I wanted to shut their door and latch it but figured that would be rude as I would need to go in their room to do that. I went back to bed. Lisa said they must have gone to the hospital in the night. I hope the lady was okay.<br />
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Next morning I got up early, excited to be on vacation. Lisa was asleep so, as I often do at these times, I snuck out and explored Old San Juan. I saw lots of trees uprooted. I saw lots of cats, something you always see in OSJ. Some businesses had "Cash Only" signs as internet for credit cards was spotty (our hotel didn't have wifi running yet, but offered to let us use the wifi from a hotel down the street if we needed it). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJWCDc9XGA0h6KVaiIlXCIu7pnLNaA0EQPXNRSoe9Km-amCnR7htsxx8DgUsKUjeHC07q2jbSFbA7PJghYjN-qKbYDif7IL0_s75JzmU8_YGiEGBCygbw9qyvxKx8ftS5NccvJwGM7Uc/s1600/IMG_7086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJWCDc9XGA0h6KVaiIlXCIu7pnLNaA0EQPXNRSoe9Km-amCnR7htsxx8DgUsKUjeHC07q2jbSFbA7PJghYjN-qKbYDif7IL0_s75JzmU8_YGiEGBCygbw9qyvxKx8ftS5NccvJwGM7Uc/s400/IMG_7086.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old San Juan</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioUkUAZ1os3FQ5j6K2aujFBHBQ5nuzsbw5oPP0LA65yQw844_c2xc8TIv87cMSy6CDV-z6T1bxAg4hWmQOHNhbSxt6j1zbBNC9HNAVy5Qc1OdY0Zhar0mO0kOdY_D-TxJfEoHY-FXf-2U/s400/PC170049.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old San Juan statue</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59rLX_C54sk6m61IygVtpR08r1jaekoK_BvtEYNsmUgTuW6X4GdZDPA1rg5Rgroc5nCuI9BMq1YXpu2l-zdTVSilNYwM5614vOMXz5ZsdlS2awJODt5psnBghUGMI7frMe8Rp8Bx4G0o/s1600/IMG_7092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59rLX_C54sk6m61IygVtpR08r1jaekoK_BvtEYNsmUgTuW6X4GdZDPA1rg5Rgroc5nCuI9BMq1YXpu2l-zdTVSilNYwM5614vOMXz5ZsdlS2awJODt5psnBghUGMI7frMe8Rp8Bx4G0o/s400/IMG_7092.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ma and Pa by the historic city gate</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vL0t4JuRLU4vSIIPcAM6ihAok4ORpezE2k3nR4lg-odTgZKluIcZziI10bDEIQ-L_rbkSeu-9MiYHKfivsy-EpZO-OIUM89goGAbcfIiW7kjeMThJcQijKzxStYWPWwJFwKCu46luvc/s1600/PC170048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vL0t4JuRLU4vSIIPcAM6ihAok4ORpezE2k3nR4lg-odTgZKluIcZziI10bDEIQ-L_rbkSeu-9MiYHKfivsy-EpZO-OIUM89goGAbcfIiW7kjeMThJcQijKzxStYWPWwJFwKCu46luvc/s400/PC170048.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OSJ cat</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HPQlKHpS1c-Y8lqBTQ3h9xcV1qjG6318OQTLHYK8vBMnwixAeElIydrPBzSvuNFm9zO-5zTHzshCbE83Uo6B5gqITowLU1C3RLaUThzjIpQhHV7TFm5GrC34RA1heqtBAI0S-s73YZ8/s1600/PC170096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1239" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HPQlKHpS1c-Y8lqBTQ3h9xcV1qjG6318OQTLHYK8vBMnwixAeElIydrPBzSvuNFm9zO-5zTHzshCbE83Uo6B5gqITowLU1C3RLaUThzjIpQhHV7TFm5GrC34RA1heqtBAI0S-s73YZ8/s400/PC170096.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curious cat</td></tr>
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I came back to Da House with coffee for everyone except me, because I can't stand the stuff, but I know what to order Lisa from Starbuck's, only a couple blocks from the hotel. Starbucks didn't have wifi either. After giving them time to drink coffee from the rooftop, we explored Old San Juan together, then headed to our cruise ship. The cruise is another story, but I'll mention this. One reason we like cruising out of San Juan is because so many of our fellow cruisers are Puerto Ricans. We love their culture and we enjoy cruising with them. At first, we thought there must not be many Puerto Ricans on this ship. But someone from Trujillo Alto mentioned that we didn't see Puerto Ricans as much because they were spending more time in their rooms on the ship. "We're tired," he said. Other people mentioned fatigue too. A man from Isabela, who didn't have power yet, said he and his wife decided to come on the cruise to get away from the effects of the storm, the daily trip to get generator gas and bottled water, the creative ways they had to figure out how to cook and keep food cold, all the little things they had to do. He really liked the hot showers on the ship. Something that surprised me when I asked people about conditions on the island is that so many mentioned that they were dealing with depression. <br />
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We disembarked from the ship on Christmas Eve. The cruise was a wonderful time (Royal Caribbean Jewel of the Seas with stops in Saint Thomas, Saint Kitts, Antigua, Saint Lucia, and Barbados, and we plucked from the water two adrift and boatless swimmers/divers one night a few miles from Saint Lucia), but that's not what this blog is about. Before our trip, we had read about hotels cancelling reservations. In fact, our hotel had cancelled our reservation too. This concern, as well as our worry about taking resources from relief workers, led us to a VRBO place in the <b>Condado</b> neighborhood of San Juan. It came at a much cheaper rate than multiple hotel rooms, with a bonus of a kitchen. It was right on the beach too. We've stayed in this neighborhood before and always enjoy it. It's a central location with lots of great places to eat. The lady who checked us into the condo said we shouldn't drink the tap water, so we went to the CVS at the end of the block and loaded up on bottled water. The busy intersection in front of the CVS didn't have power, so there was no traffic signal. People seemed to handle this and similar situations very patiently and cooperatively.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VHWoDPGxf0ccn59WJnfo1oYHtbbvFcCM5n0OkfyHnT5rBbuKc9QJEeuczzBPTKPf5DawCxZrRZ0XrA4jTXvze5JEA-Tb8VK-chnpVnEOAPzSPJrzDPtAfQfnAn0dMVqiDlR97X6B0cI/s1600/IMG_7035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VHWoDPGxf0ccn59WJnfo1oYHtbbvFcCM5n0OkfyHnT5rBbuKc9QJEeuczzBPTKPf5DawCxZrRZ0XrA4jTXvze5JEA-Tb8VK-chnpVnEOAPzSPJrzDPtAfQfnAn0dMVqiDlR97X6B0cI/s400/IMG_7035.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old San Juan cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXr-V7igq6XKOOyGgKUtgk8gfIWX3-PSGXHZ1M9pvqx6FOaQaHDLKM92tugLpN8EAIE-q0ulBrYpsVYn_EKNCglYp8VCgpPL6gH_ZzJjSjK6SR6m4Tw4c7S40jUJZ0o3M-WMyDoLv5hZQ/s1600/PC170074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXr-V7igq6XKOOyGgKUtgk8gfIWX3-PSGXHZ1M9pvqx6FOaQaHDLKM92tugLpN8EAIE-q0ulBrYpsVYn_EKNCglYp8VCgpPL6gH_ZzJjSjK6SR6m4Tw4c7S40jUJZ0o3M-WMyDoLv5hZQ/s400/PC170074.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old San Juan church</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56SZOwKibeJzI3KZGOwTfb5pyY7i-L_-EOEAO1F3mdV1r21lGBSxMGp-tifuzL814s9IZ_CYXM9KryqgwrUkJSs7Ljw-4gGHZjkc92GUj7fmmbDoV3WFfxm0WHaZrnHLN6bGXTO9ppZo/s1600/PC170081+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56SZOwKibeJzI3KZGOwTfb5pyY7i-L_-EOEAO1F3mdV1r21lGBSxMGp-tifuzL814s9IZ_CYXM9KryqgwrUkJSs7Ljw-4gGHZjkc92GUj7fmmbDoV3WFfxm0WHaZrnHLN6bGXTO9ppZo/s400/PC170081+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Perla</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nUUG_ddqIMaiqcFx_9J7FQfFNTkvdfGWiLsjs9yd8VbvwxDSPHUDS424YRwrEnN0PZjkIfx3p7nTiRdHRMt_eUxNuxrbNl7FLRWcAwFQJskkMncGPxgG3Ddj63zOnxvQj4xqxm_SStY/s1600/PC250027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nUUG_ddqIMaiqcFx_9J7FQfFNTkvdfGWiLsjs9yd8VbvwxDSPHUDS424YRwrEnN0PZjkIfx3p7nTiRdHRMt_eUxNuxrbNl7FLRWcAwFQJskkMncGPxgG3Ddj63zOnxvQj4xqxm_SStY/s400/PC250027.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OSJ</td></tr>
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We went back to Old San Juan of course (pics above).<br />
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We had Christmas Eve dinner at <b>Oceano Condado</b>, about a block from our condo. The meal and service were lovely. We started out on the ocean-facing deck but moved inside when the rain sent us there.<br />
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I've always enjoyed the Condado beach but I wasn't crazy about it this time. It seemed very wavy, hard to go in past my knees. I hardly saw any swimmers. But the views were lovely.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhci1gIp1wCFcTA0ZxNEcZXmA6arnoIyJI7k-WwozUq89_bvoUm8s1DzcVJppQUmMnrpUlRbFhMsmBkdFiXSqpKW447yGCO5d7Eml-5IP2cFL9Ibb0EcXTtSmUibaM7chcKysVaHiFYT5w/s1600/IMG_7766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhci1gIp1wCFcTA0ZxNEcZXmA6arnoIyJI7k-WwozUq89_bvoUm8s1DzcVJppQUmMnrpUlRbFhMsmBkdFiXSqpKW447yGCO5d7Eml-5IP2cFL9Ibb0EcXTtSmUibaM7chcKysVaHiFYT5w/s400/IMG_7766.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Condado Beach from our balcony (no swimmers)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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So we went to some different beaches. One that I enjoyed, right in Old San Juan, is <b>Playa El Escambron</b>. The parking lot for this beach was closed due to storm damage, so we parked on the street. The beach is protected by reef. However, it was windy and the snorkeling was difficult because the water was cloudy. This beach is lovely though.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu9KN1eHC3Re5ssOfLSIMgsJ4dhflBuWGaJVwmyjRLJ-8oNEuKgyAZOU2eG6hMuD__0TuV6HwuxBBX-S-jeBZa_ZnJwwRdnucECgGnweKXRmDxn1N179-DczwwFfxb-aMPqakTZw5rmbM/s1600/IMG_7527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu9KN1eHC3Re5ssOfLSIMgsJ4dhflBuWGaJVwmyjRLJ-8oNEuKgyAZOU2eG6hMuD__0TuV6HwuxBBX-S-jeBZa_ZnJwwRdnucECgGnweKXRmDxn1N179-DczwwFfxb-aMPqakTZw5rmbM/s400/IMG_7527.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playa El Escambron</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnQWpQKu0llRowH3VTlsdKF3Q27WMrKxRMyrYzL8bVlEWKlR61VKqmfXzE023XFkl92g9y-yO-HBq1bJRmnnP08rpMynXGFQg2lxdG9OIC41clUnM8b7hK9tPJjVPNcqimbSTfMH3nTs/s1600/IMG_7580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnQWpQKu0llRowH3VTlsdKF3Q27WMrKxRMyrYzL8bVlEWKlR61VKqmfXzE023XFkl92g9y-yO-HBq1bJRmnnP08rpMynXGFQg2lxdG9OIC41clUnM8b7hK9tPJjVPNcqimbSTfMH3nTs/s400/IMG_7580.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lifeguard stand got knocked over, makes a good bench</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tksqi8wAn5BWrnxANpJ1glzlAsUU6TLqYygANzOiCb5IexX95grVh__XyjLHKC7RzJzqsV782l9HBrnwRpGOwjmkxk_V2n10uEOmVOajxkVcQZSifUDZ3VpTXyjJB_GJvEvDiG4mFmg/s1600/PC250012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tksqi8wAn5BWrnxANpJ1glzlAsUU6TLqYygANzOiCb5IexX95grVh__XyjLHKC7RzJzqsV782l9HBrnwRpGOwjmkxk_V2n10uEOmVOajxkVcQZSifUDZ3VpTXyjJB_GJvEvDiG4mFmg/s400/PC250012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snorkeling</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwSz7itIai8oezQfGu_dJwJ_Vna7U_j02RYOvkTXYH1bYUqBoS2umD5-B-HpG6zOGnPSdUjoUJHhoYDioVOZmH0-mJwmfYEu929aIMtnrE1Twk0Nwdd7PgX3VGrUiJafdKbKF3H8WOJw/s1600/PC250074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEwSz7itIai8oezQfGu_dJwJ_Vna7U_j02RYOvkTXYH1bYUqBoS2umD5-B-HpG6zOGnPSdUjoUJHhoYDioVOZmH0-mJwmfYEu929aIMtnrE1Twk0Nwdd7PgX3VGrUiJafdKbKF3H8WOJw/s400/PC250074.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These tide pools were fun to try some macro photography in...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVF_COnMdgaQUhn2Ll95zwvZkBTYubWtXghqqE-kz1N1HgqjZCcyzfHv4wRz7l41dtss7DBRlDEdoIoomAHVbZlFlqrnGQLuUsOEODOAL-YcZ8_9YyktrXR8HDZ-yqOnfhx0uB4Y9F8U/s1600/PC250081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1600" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVF_COnMdgaQUhn2Ll95zwvZkBTYubWtXghqqE-kz1N1HgqjZCcyzfHv4wRz7l41dtss7DBRlDEdoIoomAHVbZlFlqrnGQLuUsOEODOAL-YcZ8_9YyktrXR8HDZ-yqOnfhx0uB4Y9F8U/s400/PC250081.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">like this...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_F9H_N8zjEJ49xgzQppOHqZE1jK0EdcsBOxaJcWxAv3KoBvaafqchXRpVX0pFfxaBlFgDUyjRyc3GM9JuT9j_2w1t2JVPozfIoO4u3GPPAq9b0gWrckFnKwpuZEkuEYOPhy0f_NUB-k/s1600/PC250063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_F9H_N8zjEJ49xgzQppOHqZE1jK0EdcsBOxaJcWxAv3KoBvaafqchXRpVX0pFfxaBlFgDUyjRyc3GM9JuT9j_2w1t2JVPozfIoO4u3GPPAq9b0gWrckFnKwpuZEkuEYOPhy0f_NUB-k/s400/PC250063.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and this.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The nice thing about this beach is that it's right in town, just a couple miles from where we stayed, so it can make a nice half-day activity. We could see Castillo del Morro from it. On a calmer day, the snorkeling would be great here too. But we had rented a car and wanted to explore the island. Next day we went to <b>Playa Luquillo</b>, about a half hour east of San Juan. It's near Fajardo, at the bottom of El Yunque rainforest. We saw a lot of storm damage on the drive, many more blue tarps on roofs, damaged homes and buildings, and lots of electricity trucks working on the highways.<br />
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The beach is lovely; it's publicly owned with playgrounds and changing stations and bathrooms and lifeguards and so on. But all that was closed, including the parking lot. So we drove around to a long strip of food kiosks and parked behind them, right at the beach. When it rained, we ran to the shelter of the car, and then the food kiosks. I couldn't decide what to eat, so I ordered a lot, three kinds of tacos (shrimp, fish, lobster) and the tacos were enclosed and deep friend and oh so yummy. It was only twelve dollars for both of us to eat, a nice break from the more touristy places we had been eating at. On our way back to San Juan, we went through some long traffic jams created by electric trucks working on the highways. People handled it cooperatively and constructively. They created an extra lane on the shoulder to help move traffic.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCtshn_l3iwCVB_ST2rZbNc9LGokfqN5pHJj_e-ggGV79_N2d59sKVIReIPSAV0i5UD8iye6a8Y4PwCMobkkQWLnAfeFKxrzcuyYSFXZXk1HS46WVxslsFPNNReVTEwiFZZV89bRS84Y/s1600/PC260023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCtshn_l3iwCVB_ST2rZbNc9LGokfqN5pHJj_e-ggGV79_N2d59sKVIReIPSAV0i5UD8iye6a8Y4PwCMobkkQWLnAfeFKxrzcuyYSFXZXk1HS46WVxslsFPNNReVTEwiFZZV89bRS84Y/s400/PC260023.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sand-ta</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLK8kIt3VjZ8_QcEHwIB5e769kr0luyhhluf1yINYMMrCGTZUSwQdVtpVhjsohhmWjA4GMbExReW6tq3a4HhBn0AJHrk7rqgbq6PMjo4kRmCX488bf7ptXuANLLW677bbZpheN3y1-sCY/s1600/PC260031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLK8kIt3VjZ8_QcEHwIB5e769kr0luyhhluf1yINYMMrCGTZUSwQdVtpVhjsohhmWjA4GMbExReW6tq3a4HhBn0AJHrk7rqgbq6PMjo4kRmCX488bf7ptXuANLLW677bbZpheN3y1-sCY/s400/PC260031.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damage</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0ahpaO2aU3gmjPOF4TSAqW6zhOdBJQCAlq2reQTLCXJ9yyjOEbwzs7p-m1CWdPW09_53G37ARbczaIv6bhKzv-YeExXq2pIhoyjkjg1EMsTXuCA-iBnqwtTBmE8t53S0ntz3z-9aPEI/s1600/PC260027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0ahpaO2aU3gmjPOF4TSAqW6zhOdBJQCAlq2reQTLCXJ9yyjOEbwzs7p-m1CWdPW09_53G37ARbczaIv6bhKzv-YeExXq2pIhoyjkjg1EMsTXuCA-iBnqwtTBmE8t53S0ntz3z-9aPEI/s400/PC260027.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playa Luquillo with El Yunque in background</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The next day, our last on the island, we made a big tour, south through the mountains to Ponce, along the south coast to the Cabo Rojo area in the southwest, and up the west and north coasts back to San Juan. The ride through the mountains was fun, but because of storm damage, and our ignorance of what might have been passable and not passable, we stayed on the main highway. Everything we've read and heard says that the worst damage is in the mountains. Near Ponce, we explored the Tibes Indigenous Ceremonial Center. It's one of the biggest archaeological sites in the Caribbean. It was discovered in 1975 when a hurricane caused flash flooding that unearthed some ancient ball courts, ceremonial plazas, and a cemetery. I think we may have been the first guests to the museum since the hurricanes. The place had only been open for a couple days, and the "Closed" sign on the front gate was removed while we were there. While I was in the museum, I heard Lisa's dog voice, and I came around a corner to find she had made two new friends who followed us around the place. They were strays that had been left at the museum, a mother and her pup. When we watched a short informational video, one of the dogs freaked out and started barking at the tv. As people have left the island after the storms, strays have become a bigger issue.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rSQTW631UsVLJReCFq4SyICUuH3EIqjyT14eq0npp6m2V6x_1bo60cVIZRqwh_S5Od7xHThbC78ew-UePNWUPZzGEUdzkC8JqE55XiwbrMrgMqHE9kCl9uK1UdxN17QzzJsPD22sTS0/s1600/IMG_7665.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rSQTW631UsVLJReCFq4SyICUuH3EIqjyT14eq0npp6m2V6x_1bo60cVIZRqwh_S5Od7xHThbC78ew-UePNWUPZzGEUdzkC8JqE55XiwbrMrgMqHE9kCl9uK1UdxN17QzzJsPD22sTS0/s400/IMG_7665.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa really wanted to bring them home.</td></tr>
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After we toured the museum, a man who works there walked us down to the archaeological site. There were two bigger dogs there who had gotten rid of (eaten) the site's problem iguanas that had been digging the place up. There is normally an extensive botanical garden that had been ripped up by the storms. The man said that the previous week we wouldn't have been able to walk down there, but local prisoners had been used to clean the grounds from storm debris. When I asked people here about their power and damage, they didn't seem to have as many issues as those elsewhere.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7hhsRZvSCvnuLEqoy5HkWWZa71uT1d4KuhQY_wVIowg0jF9QpdAlxdcNRkvqT_0T4DdobRWRqiATeIA0WPhitETAOwXqwHCuA4wx40UVEjvfuso2P-sIEqihhoXMmkcTkX5bEkD54L4/s1600/IMG_7671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7hhsRZvSCvnuLEqoy5HkWWZa71uT1d4KuhQY_wVIowg0jF9QpdAlxdcNRkvqT_0T4DdobRWRqiATeIA0WPhitETAOwXqwHCuA4wx40UVEjvfuso2P-sIEqihhoXMmkcTkX5bEkD54L4/s400/IMG_7671.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ball courts</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3CesxcCCB_WYgqAue07wSscpYspq7ck7vMdtmpf6ilxy38H_1Grn2P6MJebsRy1Cywp0Gxvwwgb-b6yQIsUm3EtyderXsyt7G8dF8iO4GYDInkQgMKfyjERoRXZuyqkxo35csR7dk8c/s1600/PC270016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3CesxcCCB_WYgqAue07wSscpYspq7ck7vMdtmpf6ilxy38H_1Grn2P6MJebsRy1Cywp0Gxvwwgb-b6yQIsUm3EtyderXsyt7G8dF8iO4GYDInkQgMKfyjERoRXZuyqkxo35csR7dk8c/s400/PC270016.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXgY7vI__h0mq4GiKkB96Jt1HtzZbTkfRmEufL-CJhsBShp05XLN6mrg6MHqkfNqo5M7hDMsR8wlbnfL7tea9kqo2ZVBYuXvc5iUHKxISplJy6dwhg71milHVP3NUvAij7C4TKN2Z0oe8/s1600/PC270026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXgY7vI__h0mq4GiKkB96Jt1HtzZbTkfRmEufL-CJhsBShp05XLN6mrg6MHqkfNqo5M7hDMsR8wlbnfL7tea9kqo2ZVBYuXvc5iUHKxISplJy6dwhg71milHVP3NUvAij7C4TKN2Z0oe8/s400/PC270026.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ball courts</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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We didn't spend too much time here because we had a beach to visit. One of our favorites of Puerto Rico, called both Playa Sucia (Filthy Beach) and La Playuela. It's at a dangling tip on the southwest side of the island. When we left the highway we drove lots of narrow winding roads through fields and villages. At one village, traffic was backed up and people were lined up getting bottled drinking water from a truck. Once the pavement ended we drove a bouncy and rutted road past salt ponds. My mom was getting nervous about the road. But that's how you get to Playa Sucia--you drive beyond what you think is the end of the road and then you are at a lovely beach that's worth the drive. There's also a lighthouse and some high dramatic cliffs. The beach was windy and wavy and wonderful for body surfing. A sign said the bay we were swimming in has many manatees.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmHXKdOJ6uQP7w22BLukEAHl8dKCVhc9hdm_HhxBuWBnruGXKdUtMe_GJ1JTHgzn_LRaaaW9bF9PRsJHDyfAZY74_o9T8flySR-0ve5CExd18FXzqiGEMuKNVfEvao7tVmJ4UuhKo_bw/s1600/IMG_7680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkmHXKdOJ6uQP7w22BLukEAHl8dKCVhc9hdm_HhxBuWBnruGXKdUtMe_GJ1JTHgzn_LRaaaW9bF9PRsJHDyfAZY74_o9T8flySR-0ve5CExd18FXzqiGEMuKNVfEvao7tVmJ4UuhKo_bw/s400/IMG_7680.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playa Sucia</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbDUfX4wdjUUcio4JCwVdkVQWZWfIjjUE3cxvyjj9knfpTWG1LhMjVBHVipP6yRhYCVC1DVTo-ySW6vADqeYBK1z9xbXSqsKeJsFUkA7bmGc5_p7wPgQyCYYgz3jNI1Ox0lm_xHQnyzo/s1600/IMG_7720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvbDUfX4wdjUUcio4JCwVdkVQWZWfIjjUE3cxvyjj9knfpTWG1LhMjVBHVipP6yRhYCVC1DVTo-ySW6vADqeYBK1z9xbXSqsKeJsFUkA7bmGc5_p7wPgQyCYYgz3jNI1Ox0lm_xHQnyzo/s400/IMG_7720.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playa Sucia</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCO968V2D2nS6YsQoQMWb3P63W1yQCY7Pwq17Vo8sYsKp4Lq8AnMDIH50FbjMH3-ZCTXExeZYewBIlbAQCRoqNArOflxHBx-OLtHPBbVha2UtJYZ-g8MgIlPKOUt5XbtQxI2OAuiS90PA/s1600/IMG_7731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCO968V2D2nS6YsQoQMWb3P63W1yQCY7Pwq17Vo8sYsKp4Lq8AnMDIH50FbjMH3-ZCTXExeZYewBIlbAQCRoqNArOflxHBx-OLtHPBbVha2UtJYZ-g8MgIlPKOUt5XbtQxI2OAuiS90PA/s400/IMG_7731.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing to the lighthouse</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyYh_CIdm0lIO-Y7Suwbl2gd7Wf1c9GAvEkE0GT-AtXjIjHyjvpaCWSlRQyXiwABxacOKPSrzeT2aFN0V7DuqMRQnInZ1kEfv_yUxnM-zDSkSC-XNRC3D8dqt_0nIQBeZl3T-rZhFElU/s1600/IMG_7747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyYh_CIdm0lIO-Y7Suwbl2gd7Wf1c9GAvEkE0GT-AtXjIjHyjvpaCWSlRQyXiwABxacOKPSrzeT2aFN0V7DuqMRQnInZ1kEfv_yUxnM-zDSkSC-XNRC3D8dqt_0nIQBeZl3T-rZhFElU/s400/IMG_7747.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View across the bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZW8xKqmZWCqC-KK1RdVyBl0W-hB9APoxZRSzIvhAwxM0VbKVsINSIjMGdqH79PVCWQbgrD3gzNkv-tShHHL_vtqPIlQgUxx82goVCpEsEUT8fpPTEdV1dGllNWxczmIZwJjwWIpuUOg/s1600/PC270036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZW8xKqmZWCqC-KK1RdVyBl0W-hB9APoxZRSzIvhAwxM0VbKVsINSIjMGdqH79PVCWQbgrD3gzNkv-tShHHL_vtqPIlQgUxx82goVCpEsEUT8fpPTEdV1dGllNWxczmIZwJjwWIpuUOg/s400/PC270036.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Eventually we had to leave this beach. Instead of heading back to San Juan the way we had come, we decided to go up the west coast. We drove through Joyuda, a fishing village with a couple miles of highway known for its wonderful seafood restaurants. Lisa and I have eaten along here before. Many of the restaurants were boarded and damaged. Power lines dangled loose over the highway. Trees were blown over and the upturned roots had broken up pavement. This area had taken a beating. We decided to keep driving--there was a limited amount of daylight and we wanted to see as much as we could, plus, none of us were super hungry as we had lunched at a McDonald's between Ponce and Playa Sucia. It was a lovely drive back to San Juan, although it turned dark around the time we turned east and we found a few traffic jams, again from electric trucks working power lines on the highway. We also went through a lot of intersections that didn't have power, thus no working traffic lights.<br />
<br />
The next day, we headed home to a Minnesota that was stuck in single digit temps. We never explored the southeast side of the island, partly because it's where some of the worst damage was, the same reason we didn't go deep into the mountains or the rainforest area (plus El Yunque was closed and probably will be for awhile). I was surprised by how quickly things had greened, how despite trees losing their foliage (and getting knocked over), nature was healing itself. From my limited view as a brief tourist, it's obvious it will be a long time before things get back to normal, if they do, especially for those living in the hardest hit areas. There's been a mass exodus from the island. I'm actually ashamed at our government's response to the storms. At the same time I admire the relief workers and what they are doing. Knowing I'm generalizing, I admire the resiliency and creativity and cooperativeness of the Puerto Rican people. I'm also grateful to be able to travel with the people I love. I'm grateful for drinking water from the tap, hot showers, a roof over my head, lots of little things. <br />
<br /></div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-40924877447233257162017-08-26T13:50:00.002-07:002017-08-26T14:09:53.676-07:00Superior 100 Course Musings<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuAkLM69puID4Pc7hDrli_CVw_oGk7txSdQTBq9VrivnzYZsAIlG4sQjsxojiYPt2CXU9PrMwEOASNEvutQisBg2XEg7gvKVmwt2MMNehVaZxV9wUQaGnHITiVOPdrbtc0JJX0_yUEHLQ/s1600/IMG_9593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuAkLM69puID4Pc7hDrli_CVw_oGk7txSdQTBq9VrivnzYZsAIlG4sQjsxojiYPt2CXU9PrMwEOASNEvutQisBg2XEg7gvKVmwt2MMNehVaZxV9wUQaGnHITiVOPdrbtc0JJX0_yUEHLQ/s400/IMG_9593.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "cambria";">Trail marking on Carlton Peak</span></td></tr>
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Following are some thoughts on the course, section by section. I include my splits from two years (2014 with a 31:36 finish and 2015 with a
29:34 finish, both years in 38th place; I don’t have splits for my much slower
2013 finish nor do I want to see splits for my 2016 DNF drop at County Road 6). I include the position by aid station because I find it fascinating that I finished in the same position in these two years, but I got to that position in much different ways. This year I'm heavier and slower due to a season full of injury. I hope to have as much fun as possible and make it to Lutsen on foot.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8x9I6KBR3uFCUUpds3ccML-9vJlRWeOqoFkudv0dcYASGmSkVGa53KcTzvsBHLnjBga3Kk4LG5kRfa0aSDdBMWls7D-03KgwhuQOItS8ecsqNUlYPyg1jNNGxACfNhOmTU1ScRkI2vQ/s1600/PA090367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8x9I6KBR3uFCUUpds3ccML-9vJlRWeOqoFkudv0dcYASGmSkVGa53KcTzvsBHLnjBga3Kk4LG5kRfa0aSDdBMWls7D-03KgwhuQOItS8ecsqNUlYPyg1jNNGxACfNhOmTU1ScRkI2vQ/s400/PA090367.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Gooseberry to Split Rock
(9.7 miles)</b>: These don’t compare year to year. In 2015 the race switched course to
follow the paved Gitchi Gumee bike path to the Split Rock River, where runners
leave the pavement to follow the river. The course changed because the SHT changed due to easement issues with the owner. I prefer the pavement. It provides a nice
opportunity for runners to spread out early before hitting single track. It helps avoid the starts and stops associated with every stump and stream. This
year runners will have to cross the Split Rock river without a bridge. The river and its
clink of rocks is always a lovely section and its fun to see and yell at runners across the river.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Split Rock to Beaver
Bay (10.3 miles): </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2014: 2:19, 73rd pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 2:08, 48 pos</div>
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I rarely remember anything about this section. The SHT
guidebook says its “a challenging section <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">with steep ascents
and descents and dramatic views both of Lake Superior and inland.”I don't know why I remember nothing, only a stream crossing or something similar. </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBqtCQj-LrpArdo7BWYOGR7oPoUq6Rub0cQE1OK-06Z5w_KJcdJWW4rMCNjGoP_tyoq4QSsLnD0YrH6I3Ns1RaNlbWkT0L-RUwJwsu2SArcT1CdEKpkiXKoO0_Lod97VGDRXP3X8c0Rak/s1600/RIMG0038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBqtCQj-LrpArdo7BWYOGR7oPoUq6Rub0cQE1OK-06Z5w_KJcdJWW4rMCNjGoP_tyoq4QSsLnD0YrH6I3Ns1RaNlbWkT0L-RUwJwsu2SArcT1CdEKpkiXKoO0_Lod97VGDRXP3X8c0Rak/s320/RIMG0038.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Beaver
Bay to Silver Bay (4.9 miles)</span></b></div>
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2014: 1:20, 72nd pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 1:04, 43rd pos</div>
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This is where the fun starts. We get exposed
climbs, rocky ridge-top running, and rootsy sections along the Beaver River. I
like to swim the Beaver River when training, and it's not a bad idea to dip your head here if it's warm. We get several teasing views of Silver Bay
before reaching it. For such a short section it can be tough, and it's here that the heat starts to play with you if it's going to play. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJImWu15ioe8QuHjlFUa7jC-9vkNfRMz5eE5ypOxTiGrozbeQaJOoGTokGmI6D36JFH1kv5UzDm-9r5OUJjhv1Idf5zatjYVY23u5ukXZ2TeLyn8P2MlYpqMboKi8-jHQgxr2AmJIilk/s1600/DSCF3046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJImWu15ioe8QuHjlFUa7jC-9vkNfRMz5eE5ypOxTiGrozbeQaJOoGTokGmI6D36JFH1kv5UzDm-9r5OUJjhv1Idf5zatjYVY23u5ukXZ2TeLyn8P2MlYpqMboKi8-jHQgxr2AmJIilk/s400/DSCF3046.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Silver Bay to
Tettegouche (9.9 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2014: 2:41, 71st pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 2:24, 38th pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This might be the hardest section (or maybe the toughest section is whatever section you're on). We’ve run a marathon by
now. The climbs are big and we are often on exposed rock in the afternoon sun. Leaving the aid station we start
with a long climb to Bear Lake. Mount Trudee is another long one, but after that
it is very runnable stuff through Tettegouche State Park. When I ran this section last
week, I noticed multiple places where I’ve vomited in different years. I think
that's been due to heat as much as terrain. This year I hope to back off and see if it pays off later. I need to make a conscious
effort to slow down through here. I will use poles too.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIjla0fc5aTkBP-4yAG53g9i7nN8rNME0ULQQFVYtaDoXUVw3-a0hVmfEaQl5sDZBcHmAyMDl0Y6vQ2plw3Z5NZNRqmIhTNwS6Bu5VoZRe_3KYhsv_q5g6lXos2-zOGHt628u_oMxEPc/s1600/IMGP1931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1206" data-original-width="1600" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIjla0fc5aTkBP-4yAG53g9i7nN8rNME0ULQQFVYtaDoXUVw3-a0hVmfEaQl5sDZBcHmAyMDl0Y6vQ2plw3Z5NZNRqmIhTNwS6Bu5VoZRe_3KYhsv_q5g6lXos2-zOGHt628u_oMxEPc/s400/IMGP1931.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tettegouche to County
Road 6 (8.6 miles)</b></div>
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2014: 2:40, 78th pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 2:20, 36th pos</div>
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I need to make sure I have a light when leaving
Tettegouche—I got stuck without one in this section last year, my own
stupidity. From the Tettegouche aid station to Highway 1 it’s very runnable. The
Baptism River below the falls is one of my favorite places to swim. After
Highway 1, the Fantasia climb is long and something most runners never talk
about. It’s not known as one of the big climbs of this race, but it’s one of
the bigger climbs of this race, at least in my mind. I love the view of the
lakes by Wolf Ridge. After that it’s very runnable to the aid station. I love
the view of the aid station from Sawmill Dome, such a welcome sight. This
section can feel long, at least it did to me last year when I dropped at the
end of it. </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">County Road 6 to
Finland (7.7 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2014: 2:43, 73rd pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 2:13, 34th pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
While there are some big elevation bumps in this section I
don’t remember them as obstacles. But I forget things. I never remember going
through Section 13. What I always remember is how fun it is to run the last few
miles into Finland, and what a party it is once I get there, the halfway point.
This halfway point is always a symbolic turn from day to night for me, even if
I’ve been running in the dark for a while. It’s a time to make sure I have
warmer night clothes and such.</div>
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</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Finland to Sonju Lake
Road (7.5 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Splits aren’t available for this section as Sonju is more of
a minimal aid station without crew access. I love the short gravel road section at
the beginning—it makes the sky seem bigger. The highest point of the entire course is
the forested ridge just beyond Egge Lake, but it doesn’t feel high and it
doesn’t feel like it takes huge climbing to get there. Lots of this stuff is in forest
with lakes and boardwalks. Beware the campfire at Sonju Lake aid station—it can be
a difficult one to leave, especially if it’s a cold night.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToIqCl8OxsQYUDDJCx2Ihp-XMfsSPlXc1dWG_BTsZy7FKIgc4ygI3qe7HHbO0l4dPKwMbGw9FLgKhLcSzZ5y91KhlS-LDLValyd3W4QgroPMMjbzs3EkuBg2sZjnNAbqoa9zATEf89V4/s1600/IMG_4744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToIqCl8OxsQYUDDJCx2Ihp-XMfsSPlXc1dWG_BTsZy7FKIgc4ygI3qe7HHbO0l4dPKwMbGw9FLgKhLcSzZ5y91KhlS-LDLValyd3W4QgroPMMjbzs3EkuBg2sZjnNAbqoa9zATEf89V4/s400/IMG_4744.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sonju Lake to Crosby
Manitou (4.2 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Splits are combined with previous section.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2014: 4:01, 61st pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 3:18, 36th pos</div>
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The elevation chart shows much of this section to be
downhill, but I never believe elevation charts. A couple easy climbs lets me
know I’m closing in on the end, and then we pop out onto the gravel road
approaching Crosby Manitou State Park, lined with cars full of sleeping crew
people. The sky opens up nicely on the road, and because it’s been awhile since
a bigger aid station, this feels like a nice homecoming.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Crosby Manitou to
Sugarloaf (9.4 miles)</b></div>
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2014: 3:43, 55 pos</div>
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2015: 3:14, 44 pos</div>
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When researching the book, I looked closely at drops by aid
station. Crosby Manitou and Sugarloaf are the two top ones, and many years,
especially the warmer ones, County Road 6 is right beside them. But this
section is more of a mindfuck than anything. It’s dark and late and starts with
a long and steep descent and ascent with three demoralizing false peaks through
the Manitou River Gorge. It’s one of the longer sections. Your body wants to
sleep. You may even see the sunrise on this one. You should definitely turn off
your headlamp and look up while it’s still dark. And after that initial gorge,
this section is very runnable, especially after crossing the Caribou River,
which is a great place to dip your head in. I should bring poles.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyceMJTTCT75_AqmacEbW_8w4SRlzqgcOYOdwhNFYGKaBPPdim9TKILIwI1Ntm3gaYoyWv3erKoaEquGudaKAdTDu3u6Rd_rHUPNljcJwp1rnorhS96MG5v1RY-PiDGqMtUa6twNUmhpM/s1600/PA090355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyceMJTTCT75_AqmacEbW_8w4SRlzqgcOYOdwhNFYGKaBPPdim9TKILIwI1Ntm3gaYoyWv3erKoaEquGudaKAdTDu3u6Rd_rHUPNljcJwp1rnorhS96MG5v1RY-PiDGqMtUa6twNUmhpM/s400/PA090355.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sugarloaf to Cramer
Road (5.6 miles)</b></div>
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2014: 1:43, 54th pos</div>
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2015: 1:38, 38th pos</div>
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Even though I ran it last week, I don’t have much to say
about this shorter section. It has a lot of creek crossings. It happens in that
time when memory gets fuzzy for me. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF1Y3Mxpk4qIXar2o2hGBLSz4sEQhOy8xE5Z_1ZtwYbSmkZkZCJjE2-qRzen7MqsIgwabGiwtu2Tv-clEytgRL55uaEP9DIoa1pysNt2AZXBQPc-S7ojui_wtKbqV9GQ9lRg1ebFPCmFU/s1600/P5150042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF1Y3Mxpk4qIXar2o2hGBLSz4sEQhOy8xE5Z_1ZtwYbSmkZkZCJjE2-qRzen7MqsIgwabGiwtu2Tv-clEytgRL55uaEP9DIoa1pysNt2AZXBQPc-S7ojui_wtKbqV9GQ9lRg1ebFPCmFU/s400/P5150042.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Cramer Road to
Temperance River (7.1 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2014: 2:36, 48th pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 2:14, ? pos</div>
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A couple river valleys in this section. The Cross River is
beautiful and sounds lovely in the early morning, but it can be irritating with
its minor climbs, probably more mentally irritating than anything because I
expect running beside a river to be relatively flat. It's a steep climb away from the river. Once you hit the park it’s
a nice long descent into the Temperance River aid station. You’ve got less than
a marathon to go.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTZcVD16Znh2VTmWyvs-rV3juAf7EwAwQAGddZ33Ay0Oforgcjm50TLFBJIApssPC4nFso0pwYMeCQ159FwyKHhWyoQ4GLrJYwB5-uwIiv4MzWcbbAC6DdeJd_CMFN3yMC4EQiVIXKAs/s1600/RIMG0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTZcVD16Znh2VTmWyvs-rV3juAf7EwAwQAGddZ33Ay0Oforgcjm50TLFBJIApssPC4nFso0pwYMeCQ159FwyKHhWyoQ4GLrJYwB5-uwIiv4MzWcbbAC6DdeJd_CMFN3yMC4EQiVIXKAs/s400/RIMG0127.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Temperance to Sawbill
(5.7 miles)</b></div>
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2014: no Sawbill data</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 1:42, 47th pos</div>
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Despite the Carlton Peak climb, this is one of my favorite
sections. I love running along both sides of the Temperance River. I love
leaving the Temperance River and the long and gradual and
maybe-runnable-at-spots climb towards Carlton Peak. If you've only approached Carlton Peak from the north, the climb from the south can be a bit rockier. Even the longish drop off
of Carlton Peak to Sawbill is fun with its boardwalk descents. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-o_zdlBAfW9GCUGB67wCaLxZ3BVGQpBWiGYua1rFBMrCjCnR_OGn1SO067-WAShD4kMG2yAW1Fk6TOuV9YuA6rsXG8vA5waQDgYkUoik-kfcEjaogtxoh_BOZb0kZu0qiL21Ctsd-08/s1600/RIMG0145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-o_zdlBAfW9GCUGB67wCaLxZ3BVGQpBWiGYua1rFBMrCjCnR_OGn1SO067-WAShD4kMG2yAW1Fk6TOuV9YuA6rsXG8vA5waQDgYkUoik-kfcEjaogtxoh_BOZb0kZu0qiL21Ctsd-08/s400/RIMG0145.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching Carlton Peak</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sawbill to Oberg (5.5
miles)</b></div>
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2014: no Sawbill data, 39th pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 1:37, 36 pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Less than a half marathon to go. This section isn’t bad. It’s
mostly shaded, as is the next section too. There are really no huge climbs, no
big landmarks. It seems to be mostly about getting from one spot to the next. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo02JNUK0S7NPV-55oSNJi6dIkHohrR44U9PWrS8X9a5h-vgmiZdNC-2cqzNCDKVYTKJFeKeZj4dqwwDGLZ1IG090s0-Tiz9IPjqk_tzkoo6_CfeRy_f5X0nEjsvfuXvyv6y-F1o1oXbI/s1600/IMG_7304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo02JNUK0S7NPV-55oSNJi6dIkHohrR44U9PWrS8X9a5h-vgmiZdNC-2cqzNCDKVYTKJFeKeZj4dqwwDGLZ1IG090s0-Tiz9IPjqk_tzkoo6_CfeRy_f5X0nEjsvfuXvyv6y-F1o1oXbI/s400/IMG_7304.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom Weigt and the Poplar River</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Oberg to Lutsen (7.1
miles)</b></div>
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2014: 2:22, 38th pos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
2015: 2:07, 38th pos</div>
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You leave the aid station wanting to cry because you’re
going to get this thing done, one way or another. The climbs here don’t matter.
They just don't matter. Bigger climbs are behind you. Moose Mountain is steep but short. Last time I did it during the race it felt
like a funeral procession, silent and solemn and oddly serious. Somewhere from
the top of that ridge you can hear the finish but it’s still an hour away.
You’ll have to circle around to it, which means over Mystery Mountain, which is longer but
has switchbacks. It’s one of the only times you’ll get switchbacks on this
trail. Once you see that group campsite atop Mystery, it’s mostly downhill.
Ride that fucker down to the river. No matter what the feet feel like, the
sound of the Poplar River will temporarily erase that. Maybe. Then pavement. And that lump in your throat. Get
yourself a buckle.</div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-73117013764089283832017-04-24T16:58:00.003-07:002017-09-06T13:40:28.447-07:00Isle Royale Runcation 2016 (Second Boat)<style>
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Isle Royale National Park can only
be reached by boat or seaplane. This journey makes the destination more
magical. For Tom and me, it first meant a long drive from Mankato, but it
allowed us to stretch our legs with some trail miles on the Superior Hiking
Trail. Since we are both used to running the Superior races, I wanted to show Tom the trail
north out of Lutsen for some variety. We ran along the Poplar River but we
didn’t make it as far as Lake Agnes, one of my favorite SHT spots. After the
run we met up with Jason and Amy Husveth and their french bulldog Luna.</div>
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The
next day (early May) we took the Voyageur II’s second crossing of the season from
Grand Portage, Minnesota. It’s a two hour boat ride to Windigo, the ranger
station on the west end of the island. These early crossings are festive, with
research scientists and volunteers, park staff and rangers and return visitors.
It’s a reunion of sorts. Someone brought a cake with the Voyageur II drawn in
icing and we all ate it. Once the boat entered the calmer water (and warmer air) of the harbor,
we stepped out of the cabin to watch the shoreline. We were wondering if we
would see much snow, and we only spotted a few patches near the water. After
dropping us at Windigo, the boat circles the island, delivering mail and goods
and passengers on its two-day circumnavigation. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>I
was traveling with Tom Weigt and Jason Husveth. Tom’s recently retired and a
trail running mentor. Jason’s a long-time runner and botanist. We unloaded our
gear from the boat and, after the dockside Leave No Trace talk from Ranger Val,
we carried our stuff the full half-mile to our base camp on Washington Creek.
In normal tourist season, the three-sided and screened shelters on Washington
Creek have a two-night stay limit. But there’s no limit during the early and late
shoulder seasons, so this would be our base camp for the week. It’s a lovely
spot beside the creek, where moose often appear. It’s also the place where all
trails on the west side of the island converge, a perfect spot to spend our
runcation. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>I’ve
hiked and paddled this island many times, but our goal for this trip was to run
as much as we could or wanted to. Or maybe we didn’t have a goal. Still, lots
of people talk of running the island end to end, about fastest known times, say
along the Greenstone Ridge, and how to coordinate with the Voyageur to move
their gear around the island while they run (it’s early spring on Lake Superior—you
need gear to keep warm, especially at night). By base camping here we dropped
all those worries. It allowed us the freedom to run without pressure or
destination or coordination. We wanted to run simple, carrying nothing more
than a small amount of snacks and fluids and maybe a camera. And if we didn’t
feel like running, if we woke and preferred to sit and stare at the movements
of water or to lay in the grass and watch clouds and birds hover over us, we
wanted that freedom too.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>That
first afternoon we loosened our legs around the Huginnin Cove loop, a nine-mile
run around the northwest corner of the island. We ran through snowbanks. Jason
pointed out plants with fascinating names, although he spit out the latin name
first. Along the north shore the trail turns mossy and rootsy with dramatic
overlooks. Our return trip had great views of Washington Harbor through fir and
spruce and leafless trees. We had the campground to ourselves that night.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>On our first full day Jason and I ran the Feldtmann Loop. Tom ran with us to Rainbow Cove.
We stumbled through a lovely fog along the shore and up to Grace Overlook. We
found moose antlers beside the trail. When we got to Feldtmann Lake the fog
still whispered across the water. We took the spur trail to Rainbow Cove and
the rocky beach opened up to us like a milky cathedral. Jason walked along the
beach finding agates and Tom and I soaked in the eerie atmosphere, the fog, the
sound of waves rolling rocks, the cold breeze, the overwhelming solitude. We
hadn’t seen anyone all morning. It felt like we had the island to ourselves.</div>
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We
left Tom at Feldtmann Lake. He would run back to camp, while we continued the
loop. Climbing, we turned to see the smaller lake below us, the big lake in the
distance, and a juvenile eagle on a perch near us. We were hot from the ascent
but the breezes were cold and wet. By the time we reached the Feldtmann fire
tower I needed food and I was happy to dig through my pack for some. I took my
shoes and socks off and aired my feet. The temperature was so different in the inland forests and ridges than the shoreline areas. The descent toward Siskiwit Bay was cool
and gradual but somehow I was shirtless when we reached the shore. We must have
looked like fools to the campers pumping water by the campground and dressed in
layers of down. They seemed worried about us. They kept a safe distance. We
were fools. It was cold. We had been running over 20 miles. We filled our water
bottles straight from the lake without filtering it. We ate more food. We moved
along the beach. I reminded Jason that we were committed to the loop now, that
turning around would take much longer than moving forward. I wondered why we were
doing this. I was giddy and drunk with happiness. I questioned my place in the
universe, asked if I was doing life right. We startled ducks. Loons wailed in
the distance.</div>
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The
climb to the Greenstone Ridge rises 800 feet in 3 miles. We took our time with
it. We explored old mines. We discussed heavy existential matters that I’ll
never remember the details of. We ran through muddy highways of moose tracks. Eventually,
we ran through the Island Mine campground and thick and open forests of ash and
maple. Once we reached the Greenstone Ridge, our final six miles was a gradual
descent. It felt liberating to surrender to gravity and open the legs, a long slide
on the soft spring ground.</div>
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The
next day we went up the Minong, the primitive and rocky and achingly scenic
trail on the northern part of the island. We lay down on ancient volcanic ridges.
We pointed out Thunder Bay and Sleeping Giant Provincial Park across the lake.
We bushwhacked through thick cedar swamps to the Greenstone Ridge. Fiddleheads
grew beside a creek. We scared up a moose. It was a blur of brown and a
drumbeat of breaking branches. Back at camp, Jason made tea from leaves and
moss he gathered. Tom read a mystery novel and identified birdcalls. I sat
beside the creek and watched the water flow in and out with the seiche. We may
have napped. It was that kind of afternoon.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>The following day Jason returned to Rainbow Cove. Tom and I explored the Greenstone
Ridge, the spine that cuts across the middle of the island. We ran through
birch forests carpeted by uncurling ferns and spring flowers. Once we topped
out on the ridge, a lovely blowing snow softly pelted us. We ran boardwalks
through swamps smoky with snow. The flakes seemed to sizzle as they hit their reflections
on black water. At some point, Tom turned around and I continued east. The
trail opened up on rocky ridges to views of inland lakes and Lake Superior on
both sides and Canada in the distance. Everything was below me. The running
felt smooth and effortless. Twenty miles in, I took the spur trail down to Hatchet
Lake and from a campsite watched snow blow sideways across the water. I figured
I would eventually get tired and slow down, so I decided to turn around. I
hadn’t brought a headlight on this run and I wanted to beat the darkness back
to camp.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>The
climb back up to the Greenstone was steep but short. Yet I couldn’t believe how
good my legs felt. I was in no hurry. I was enjoying the movement, running, one
of the simplest things a human can do, and I felt lucky to be doing it,
blessed. My gps watch died. I didn’t need it any longer. The handcuffs were
off. I had been running over six hours and time didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps
it was bent, accordioning in and out with my breathing, just as the island
breathed in and out with me, my oxygen running through it as its blood ran
through me. I was physically tired and I was in total bliss. All my masks were
falling away. I was doing this thing I was made to do. In this moment, on this
run, I was completely free and weightless.</div>
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I
was floating down a gradual descent toward a boggy swamp when a sandhill crane
took flight ahead of me. I heard its unique call before I saw it. I stopped
running to watch it circle. A steady wind whispered through the treetops, a
wind you hear in layers, the kind of wind you only hear on an island. Just off
the trail to my left, a bull moose stood from a wallow. He turned his head to
look back at me. His antlers’ spring blooms were velvet knobs. When he seemed
to decide I didn’t matter to his world, he bent his neck to eat, still watching
me while he chewed the vegetation. I clicked a couple pictures. Then I moved
on, quietly, allowing him his space, in his home. </div>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-12438904168601749922016-06-26T13:44:00.001-07:002016-06-26T13:54:11.958-07:00Bighorn 2016<div style="text-align: justify;">
I approach the Bighorn 100 having run only a couple times in the previous three weeks due to nursing a bad knee. Maybe that rest was good. I have an itch from poison ivy on both legs. And I'm intimidated by this race--I dropped at the turnaround last year. But I have a great base of winter miles, many of them hill intensive. However I'm a flatlander from Minnesota. No matter how many hills I run, I don't know elevation. Simple fact.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgWLxQdJK64dKbQpso-O1Y-oANHMQTF1gdUh2DhAj-nCpjiS-ii1CBQWuBLBWNs-XeWcf29BOiy916a_kDJhVYWnBzDtaq2jP0CRuJAbfX1boIFipse4vIKN-AgdIxixaCm5wvRCYFhc/s1600/IMG_8204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgWLxQdJK64dKbQpso-O1Y-oANHMQTF1gdUh2DhAj-nCpjiS-ii1CBQWuBLBWNs-XeWcf29BOiy916a_kDJhVYWnBzDtaq2jP0CRuJAbfX1boIFipse4vIKN-AgdIxixaCm5wvRCYFhc/s400/IMG_8204.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The first 8 miles of the course are constant climbing. It starts in the Tongue River Canyon surrounded by rock cliffs and the higher we climb the more the canyon opens up into wildflower-filled meadows. Throughout this climb I visit with Scott and Holly Huston and Shawn Severson, fellow Minnesotans. A long line of runners strings out in front of us and behind us.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutVbngfCDstFCADukO5xZvP2lTeWXr8Jd8ikM93SFrnq_rTJKB1LNtpwazLj1rnKr7lBGwb1E28GJKv35QKFLcC43QNgH5VdLooJE0WiTKGfPrHUOmZlF4l1IqsnpPBUYmaOMHEXo2mk/s1600/IMG_0525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutVbngfCDstFCADukO5xZvP2lTeWXr8Jd8ikM93SFrnq_rTJKB1LNtpwazLj1rnKr7lBGwb1E28GJKv35QKFLcC43QNgH5VdLooJE0WiTKGfPrHUOmZlF4l1IqsnpPBUYmaOMHEXo2mk/s400/IMG_0525.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I yelled "Woo!" and scared this lady in front of me.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
My goal is to play it safe and conservative, to get to the end. I know from last year that this initial climb can take a lot out of me. Play it safe. Do no harm. Enjoy the views. Enjoy the company.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXH3Vy918sTy7yTIDRew-beiYRqFA79KctiIYMCzfo4cK4fZxmCm7cA3-e5ikOQCnQsCqbIVSqLrC-wpGqqRwQSV-txDRGxnWzRe7PcA_nQMd6szDcPRXlLIp3ge6hktZZ8pvBaByzKEM/s1600/IMG_0546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXH3Vy918sTy7yTIDRew-beiYRqFA79KctiIYMCzfo4cK4fZxmCm7cA3-e5ikOQCnQsCqbIVSqLrC-wpGqqRwQSV-txDRGxnWzRe7PcA_nQMd6szDcPRXlLIp3ge6hktZZ8pvBaByzKEM/s400/IMG_0546.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following Shawn as we work this climb together.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCZNS4yygmnd36xZ5WGdXDYHuiT7cmuSCOCd0LLYRioVL5UT-pmkJ3S-iotXPsU5ngf-jhAIuPWS1nzWS3Q7Nk2wyngjnHciln8LxGKV1f8VrYnLyzom8PpsY01YegDM6_V5FJCbgDLI/s1600/IMG_0558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCZNS4yygmnd36xZ5WGdXDYHuiT7cmuSCOCd0LLYRioVL5UT-pmkJ3S-iotXPsU5ngf-jhAIuPWS1nzWS3Q7Nk2wyngjnHciln8LxGKV1f8VrYnLyzom8PpsY01YegDM6_V5FJCbgDLI/s400/IMG_0558.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildflowers</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqg-Z7Wi8baj3TSUHD0Jh_rQDk-hTAeV95_dsm7p7_f1mZh5-H0PwRF5pmfXZmVTSJH-aCzMGpwcoUrfQrYbxxynheDmdBs9tmR3rmqP1ccYNzZH-6RwXGO43iQMgYkqV5dFMpuBPeagE/s1600/IMG_0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqg-Z7Wi8baj3TSUHD0Jh_rQDk-hTAeV95_dsm7p7_f1mZh5-H0PwRF5pmfXZmVTSJH-aCzMGpwcoUrfQrYbxxynheDmdBs9tmR3rmqP1ccYNzZH-6RwXGO43iQMgYkqV5dFMpuBPeagE/s400/IMG_0561.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tongue River Canyon below</td></tr>
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The higher we get the more the views open up. The wildflowers are like fireworks exploding in my eyes. Finally, things level off (it's relative) and there are even short downhill sections we can run. </div>
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With about a quarter mile to go before hitting the first major aid station, Dry Fork at mile 13, I yell "Woo!" Someone immediately answers from the forest on my left. It's me. I've found an echo. I do it again. What a fun conversation with myself!</div>
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It's extra nice to see Lisa here because I don't see her often in this race. The next time will be at the turnaround. Most of the aid stations are hard to get to. Volunteers either backpack or ride horses into them. Maria and Doug Barton are here--Maria's running the 50 mile the next day. They have my gorilla mask! I switch water bladders and shove a handful of food into my face. I pocket chunks of crystallized ginger and leave. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6jh5Ir2jMBc3H8cm-a2Eg5GHJEt3zmnILQgdhSYg-iIYABSkelKjFQB7SLSslAZC9cCkPv6EHaUXlkPEE9b2YlfPPC9yUMUxfnFXJiW_WYPfjBansZlSgydbbe_VKgYShCm3aw4QKEA/s1600/IMG_8205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6jh5Ir2jMBc3H8cm-a2Eg5GHJEt3zmnILQgdhSYg-iIYABSkelKjFQB7SLSslAZC9cCkPv6EHaUXlkPEE9b2YlfPPC9yUMUxfnFXJiW_WYPfjBansZlSgydbbe_VKgYShCm3aw4QKEA/s400/IMG_8205.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dry Fork aid station with my honey. Photo credit Maria Barton.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After all that climbing, it's fun to see more runnable course. The next 12 miles are rolling. I try to be careful, smart, conservative. I eat a handful of bacon at an aid station. I see Jordan Hanlon, another Minnesotan, on the trail. He's moving well and wise ahead of me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pDCujP7JPlZAdNADVBg3-6BWa27Dr7t3Vsi16P0JYYQ_bkzSWOfvHAMlnF2ZbD3P2jDDLNe6fk0V8J-7t1aug7k3SlOYeeEil_4qiKj1chbIACCSVnkRND777_Y5pbOeVb1lsCHFqgk/s1600/IMG_0580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pDCujP7JPlZAdNADVBg3-6BWa27Dr7t3Vsi16P0JYYQ_bkzSWOfvHAMlnF2ZbD3P2jDDLNe6fk0V8J-7t1aug7k3SlOYeeEil_4qiKj1chbIACCSVnkRND777_Y5pbOeVb1lsCHFqgk/s400/IMG_0580.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I dip my hat and buff into every stream I cross to help against the afternoon heat.<br />
<br />
The peace of the mountains and the immediacy of the wildflowers settle into me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBe0g0AoX0LWsdkao8L9N5bseIvG7fzkxlJ-K_LPZG8OH-LZuWib_gefRppsCNjY659-j4L51WgYAxksMTOBQCXW9MaK2fR0LNPeCE_5UpNYFSbZAACWSu3exiL4Vh1JCNEbspj7JK-TI/s1600/IMG_0583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBe0g0AoX0LWsdkao8L9N5bseIvG7fzkxlJ-K_LPZG8OH-LZuWib_gefRppsCNjY659-j4L51WgYAxksMTOBQCXW9MaK2fR0LNPeCE_5UpNYFSbZAACWSu3exiL4Vh1JCNEbspj7JK-TI/s400/IMG_0583.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Eric Nordgren's sitting in tall grass beside the trail. He rolls over to stand and follow me.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I can't stop puking," he says.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"That happened to me last year," I say. "It really sucks. Do you need anything? Salt? Water? Ginger?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I've tried everything."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Let's work this together. Let me know if you're going to puke some more. I've got a camera."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Before I finish my sentence he's hurling.<br />
<br />
I find the sound of vomit hilarious. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Dude," I say. "I just told you to warn me." I click a couple pictures. "Does that feel better?" I ask. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He responds by hurling more. He just keeps spewing. His tap is wide open. Like a total dick, I laugh. I can't help it. The sound of vomit always does this to me. He's in trouble though. I'm looking into a mirror of my race last year, and I worry it could happen to me now too. There isn't much I can do for him. Shawn can't be far behind and she's a doctor. I offer some words of sympathy and apologize for my laughter and move on, although I recommend to the radio operator at the next aid station that they send help. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Finally I hit the steep drop down into the Little Bighorn Canyon. It's a 3-4 mile drop and when I surrender to gravity the running and pounding get violent. The cattle prints in dried mud slow me in spots. I'm grateful the mud is dry.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The views along this section are dramatic as I enter the canyon.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQTMbhOHmJOYf1NOeQK181rRsVOSr9rLrkQdeyWOhOT96_XSuCtepIlkMUvbYahF0Sg2YFeMuiIs0Tjc4A0U6HSpb-_LCL5WK85mNDgom_2Ao9LjjqI8ZEZht8YEL91ApjgfMHEouW00/s1600/IMG_0596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQTMbhOHmJOYf1NOeQK181rRsVOSr9rLrkQdeyWOhOT96_XSuCtepIlkMUvbYahF0Sg2YFeMuiIs0Tjc4A0U6HSpb-_LCL5WK85mNDgom_2Ao9LjjqI8ZEZht8YEL91ApjgfMHEouW00/s400/IMG_0596.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of The Wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXKbQW9VhQZhS1Jk0i7YYWrrR8D3ur0DJiAr1-ZLmNkJH-BbOmo-3DX0M42QrHh2HuJ72ej71L6P0I-980eEW0FH54sj7aBJ3GQGnguwvC2gevvZte5-09a4jnK7rb-gFrkS20rNAzpA/s1600/IMG_0597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXKbQW9VhQZhS1Jk0i7YYWrrR8D3ur0DJiAr1-ZLmNkJH-BbOmo-3DX0M42QrHh2HuJ72ej71L6P0I-980eEW0FH54sj7aBJ3GQGnguwvC2gevvZte5-09a4jnK7rb-gFrkS20rNAzpA/s400/IMG_0597.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Footbridge crossing of the Little Bighorn River</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Footbridge aid station is a machine. Spotters have radioed in my number and someone greets me with my dropbag in hand. I take a seat under a shade tarp. It's hot. The afternoon has beat me down, although the breeze has been kind today. I drink lots of water here and eat plenty of melon. I try soup. I realize both the people sitting under this tarp with me are named Jordan, though one is a dude from Minnesota (Hanlon) and the other is a lady from Sheridan who has already asked what I'll do when I fall apart from the altitude. I try to think through my needs and address them. I dig warm clothes from my drop bag and put them in my pack. I change into a dry shirt. I load up on salt pills. The next 18 miles will be a steady climb of more than 4000 feet. It's where my race fell apart last year.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFU_Q5Si2eLg3G46AiXgAaIiQ_TpKSmEPUivISN8QDGxRS6z59IS8HsBVaD3uhy-woNpSqNiGMZ4TXhyphenhyphen-LYWU-yF7UHFv67LGAHaE_U-6K1XdMZP2X8Tdgyo3z2Mv084Ar7QEYlCxKY9c/s1600/IMG_0602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFU_Q5Si2eLg3G46AiXgAaIiQ_TpKSmEPUivISN8QDGxRS6z59IS8HsBVaD3uhy-woNpSqNiGMZ4TXhyphenhyphen-LYWU-yF7UHFv67LGAHaE_U-6K1XdMZP2X8Tdgyo3z2Mv084Ar7QEYlCxKY9c/s400/IMG_0602.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Bighorn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A couple miles out of Footbridge aid station I remember my headlamp. I remember that I forgot it. It's still in my drop bag at Footbridge. There's nothing to do but turn around and head back. On the way back, runners seem to think I'm leading the race. They cheer me on. I can't help but laugh. I say no. I shake my head. I say I forgot something. Some are kind enough to offer their extras, but I can't do that. A part of running ultras is about accepting the kindness of strangers, but I can't do something that could put someone else's race in jeopardy. Running ultras is also about self-sufficiency, about correcting mistakes so they don't spin out of control. I get my light. I start the climb again. I've lost an hour on this detour. I've added almost four miles to my run. It deflates me, and I've lost that racing sense of urgency, but the scenery is lovely. I love running through these lodgepole pines with the sound of the Little Bighorn rushing below.<br />
<br />
This long climb is big in my head, but the reward is that I'll get to see my honey at the top, and then run downhill for 18 miles. For the most part, the climb is relatively gradual, but the air gets the thinner the higher we go, and it will end at the highest point of the race. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIsOWmqDBty85VPtmnH_YVuU6G4CTuXdnyB0MpsTs8AT4JtAb5W2dDCyofCeUqrxN6lPo09MvlFZHLktKwZc-bNISwbeqyIHz_pP3uB5VTROOTutU5Hmp5jOa5sCqsVvQjoht_lRNql4/s1600/IMG_8216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIsOWmqDBty85VPtmnH_YVuU6G4CTuXdnyB0MpsTs8AT4JtAb5W2dDCyofCeUqrxN6lPo09MvlFZHLktKwZc-bNISwbeqyIHz_pP3uB5VTROOTutU5Hmp5jOa5sCqsVvQjoht_lRNql4/s400/IMG_8216.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Lisa Langton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Just before dark a brief rain falls, only enough to make me pull out my shell, put it on, then take it off five minutes later. Enough to take some humidity from the air. After it moves on, we are left with a lovely lightning show. Once it clears, the solstice moon appears and stays with me the rest of the climb. It feels like someone is running behind me, shining a light over my shoulder. The moon glistens in the river and the streams feeding it. It shines off rocks walls. It's everywhere.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-3KvCfix6OioIXyEu7POyJObOmVjTOcDA8oDJFA0Hi3dgat67j5f7WSBB22Y1d9MRRQ8UKaHGrTP3rJOz9tcp043lg_Yi6RJpZg7RXjeo6nsAMdT8E0jOD2zqhEwV9B589QuomVd3tg/s1600/IMG_8215+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-3KvCfix6OioIXyEu7POyJObOmVjTOcDA8oDJFA0Hi3dgat67j5f7WSBB22Y1d9MRRQ8UKaHGrTP3rJOz9tcp043lg_Yi6RJpZg7RXjeo6nsAMdT8E0jOD2zqhEwV9B589QuomVd3tg/s400/IMG_8215+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Lisa Langton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mice scamper along the trail ahead of me. In the morning, on the way down, I'll notice many of them have been flattened by runners.<br />
<br />
Somewhere nausea takes hold. I recognize this as the same area where I fell apart last year. I drink Tailwind and eat gels and try to move through it. Beck's song "Nausea" comes into my head and stays with me for hours. I sit on a rock for a few minutes and wonder if it's the same rock I sat on and heaved uncontrollably on last year. I get up and move on.<br />
<br />
I hear a high pitched sound. Maybe it's a rabbit, or a coyote, or an elk. I hear it again. I have no idea what it is, but it seems to move with me, over to my left, on a ridge in the trees.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later I pull off my pack and put my warm clothes on. I'm struggling. Runners are passing both ways. Shawn comes by and offers some encouragement and tells me to follow her. By the time I get fully dressed she is a distant moving light but something to chase. She's moving well, her light crossing the landscape quickly.<br />
<br />
By the time I get to the next aid station Shawn's ready for a nap. We both sit by the fire briefly. I have to move on, I tell her. I have to get to the top.<br />
<br />
The higher I climb the more mud I find.<br />
<br />
My watch has fooled me. When I tell a runner I'm passing that I'm worried about cut-offs, he asks what time it is. When I tell him 4:10, he freaks out. From behind, he corrects me and says it's only 2:10. I apologize. Trail math is never a good thing, always unreliable, but my mind is off tonight. <br />
<br />
A red light shines from a mountain above the turnaround aid station. It's like a compass point. The light is from the satellite station near Medicine Wheel. I had a strange and mystifying experience at Medicine Wheel a couple years ago. The energy there is ancient and strong. I let it pull me towards the Jaws aid station.<br />
<br />
Runners coming downhill give encouragement. They say I'll love it when I turn around. Their lights guide my way.<br />
<br />
At the Jaws aid station, runners sleep in sleeping bags on the ground, between cars, and out in the open. Bodies are spread out everywhere.<br />
<br />
I find Lisa asleep in her car and tap on the window and wait for her inside the tent. I eat watermelon. Runners are laid out on cots underneath space blankets. Runners are hunched over in chairs. They come in and out. EMT's scuttle around. Lisa covers me in her Mecca Tattoo sweatshirt and a blanket. She rubs my neck and shoulders.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVNONU0SDzwMp1CM6AOMhKLlpdkFSlEVOv9riL3dDiLGLCLDONUqADEM_mMeYQlhNd9dfpYaQZrI1nZdSi1knGLKUEwUSyblwp0M9cRErY3z3pG5WIgmVxgK_quZhseJge_Kd28TwNVn0/s1600/IMG_4260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVNONU0SDzwMp1CM6AOMhKLlpdkFSlEVOv9riL3dDiLGLCLDONUqADEM_mMeYQlhNd9dfpYaQZrI1nZdSi1knGLKUEwUSyblwp0M9cRErY3z3pG5WIgmVxgK_quZhseJge_Kd28TwNVn0/s400/IMG_4260.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a couple minutes more.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've been here too long. I stand to leave and my legs lock up. Every muscle seizes. Even the muscles between my ribs. I fall back into my chair and ask Lisa for salt tablets. As soon as I eat them I know they're headed back up. This time I stand with more control and ask an EMT to point me toward a good place to throw up. She hands me a plastic bin with regurgitated ramen in it. One look at that and I'm headed out the tent and retching on my knees. Lisa's behind me, laughing and telling me the lighting sucks for pictures. I spew so much water and watermelon. It feels good. I think I'm laughing too. A couple feet away a body is sleeping on the ground. Or trying to.<br />
<br />
I decide to sit a few more minutes. Let things settle. Jordan Schmidt's in there now and I sit beside him. Lisa hands me hot chocolate but my hands are shaking and it's hard to hold. The EMT's suggest I sit under the heat lamp but I'm having too much fun with Jordan. They're draining his blisters and cleaning his feet. He tells them he's ticklish. Shawn is in now and napping under a blanket.<br />
<br />
I tell Lisa maybe I should drop. I'm doing bad math again and figuring out my time to Footbridge. It's way off in my head. If I drop, I tell her, we don't ever have to come back here. The idea of a hotel sounds lovely. Sleep. Rest.<br />
<br />
But a couple minutes later I'm standing, rallying. Eighteen miles of downhill running is such a pure and fun thing. Why would I ever consider anything else?<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr31LeW8KIOb727FpIYufp2IqqykfLNvdF1h_qCqajxjxmYbRzMwRn9VWTtuNs92QEEPDNgB_9EY56UeFkrFi1grGw7BeuLqdHYNMWkYuFm4yQLkzzKkrnHRtuWET-u09iTeXSWoWwoUA/s1600/IMG_4266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr31LeW8KIOb727FpIYufp2IqqykfLNvdF1h_qCqajxjxmYbRzMwRn9VWTtuNs92QEEPDNgB_9EY56UeFkrFi1grGw7BeuLqdHYNMWkYuFm4yQLkzzKkrnHRtuWET-u09iTeXSWoWwoUA/s400/IMG_4266.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Jaws</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I greet the cowboys at the first aid station on the way down with a loud woo! Am I really already here? I ask.<br />
<br />
I barely stop, just grab some fruit and keep moving. I pass people and throw out encouragement along the way.<br />
<br />
At Jaws when I put my head in my lap, I had hit the button on my watch and it stopped. Now I've decided to just shut it off. There is liberation in running watchless, especially during a race. Let the miles flow out minus the constraints of time and cutoff worries. Let the legs do their thing. Let the body tumble forward. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MP3Tob724uq8r0ydMMhApswZj8AAV68by9O6cEbDnXTCxtDEiLLtL7MPvAXSqcKSrcKSam9CgLynvizIAzGnEzL3N3ICaxGbMBKHsJ4Jkc_SFaTh02mlAcbaz_liYtwQWP5_gXLpzEk/s1600/IMG_0603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_MP3Tob724uq8r0ydMMhApswZj8AAV68by9O6cEbDnXTCxtDEiLLtL7MPvAXSqcKSrcKSam9CgLynvizIAzGnEzL3N3ICaxGbMBKHsJ4Jkc_SFaTh02mlAcbaz_liYtwQWP5_gXLpzEk/s400/IMG_0603.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The sun creeps up. This is why we do these things. We do it for the loneliness and beauty of the night running, for the bottomless lows and for the resurrection of the dawn. We do it for the people we meet along the way, the shared suffering with runners and the kindness of strangers. We do it for the pure pointlessness of it. All I can say is that it's a lovely morning, slightly warm, and the light sneaks over the mountaintops and plays in the flowers and grasses and streams. It might just be the most beautiful morning ever. As they all are. As this one is.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The slide down the mountain is a sacred blur and then I'm staring at the volunteer at Footbridge aid station at mile 66. She's offering me an Egg Mcmuffin. From McDonald's.<br />
<br />
Maybe a quarter of one, I say.<br />
<br />
I'll hold the rest of it if you want it, she says. She has angel wings. I take off my pack and ditch my light and my warm clothes in my drop bag. I refill on gels.<br />
<br />
I'm intimidated by this next section. It's called The Wall for a reason. I lean into my poles. I lean into the discomfort of the climb. There is little shade here and the sun is doing its thing on me too. This climb takes place one simple and slow step at a time. Fifty milers come by. They're running up this. I stop and breathe and allow my heart rate to drop. I wonder if I should go back to Footbridge and pull out. That's ridiculous. The only way is forward. And up. Survive this climb, I tell myself. There is nothing else. There is only this climb. These steps.<br />
<br />
The cold spring water at the aid station is wonderful. I sit and drink. Perhaps sitting is a mistake. The legs feel it when I stand.<br />
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I move on and there is still climbing to be done. It's not as steep. But things are happening inside me. This is why I'm here. To see where the legs will take me. To play with limits and boundaries. I'm tapping on walls now. Listening to what might be on the other side.<br />
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I'm slowing down. The heat is messing with me. It's tough to eat. I've ditched my Tailwind for straight water. I douse myself at every spring and creek to regulate the body temps.<br />
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An aid station has pop tarts crumbled in a bowl and I shove them in my mouth. The sugar hits my blood in a cool rush.<br />
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I'm having fun, but moving forward is difficult. Dust is kicked up with every footstep and it all seems to settle in my mouth. The kindness of strangers at aid stations moves me forward. <br />
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I run with a lady named Reilly. No, we're power walking. We both admit how happy we'll be to see our partners at Dry Fork. It's been forever since I've seen Lisa. Let's try to run the downs, Reilly says. I take a few steps, but it's not happening for me. She moves ahead, and gets smaller and smaller in the distance.<br />
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A lady's sitting in a creek. It looks like a great idea. I sit down slowly. My legs tighten. My ribs and hands cramp. I'm not able to keep up with all the salt leaving my body. The lady's gone and I'm alone in the stream. Another lady comes by and asks if I need help getting up. I do. We struggle together but then I'm up, moving forward, slowly, walking.<br />
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Search and rescue guys on ATVs are a regular sight now, rolling past with runners loaded on the back. Their dust settles in my mouth.<br />
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I want a ride.<br />
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It feels like I'm walking backwards.<br />
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Rocks sparkle and I pick them up and put them in my pockets. Later, I'll look at them and wonder what it was about them that made me want to keep them.<br />
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Dry Fork aid station comes into view, in the far distance, high above. By the time I see it, I know it will be my final stop. I'm content with that. I'm happy about that. I can't wait to be done. Although I've been having a blast. I'm just done. I don't know how else to say it. There is nothing in me that wants to move on to the finish, not in my legs, not in my head. I can't find whatever it is that will move me forward, and I'm okay with that. I'm in a beautiful place. I'm really really happy. But it will take me an hour to reach Dry Fork. I'm so grateful and happy to see Lisa when I arrive. She's pink from so much sun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Dry Fork aid station. Photo by Lisa Langton</td></tr>
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I try not to use my running as a measure of self-worth or ego-stroking. I try to run for the pleasure of running. I've gotten to do a lot of that in this run. Sometimes we can beat ourselves bloody with a DNF, but for me, it's a part of ultrarunning. The beauty of this stuff is that there are no guarantees, especially for a finish, not in hundreds. That's why we do these. Among other reasons. Sometimes a race drop is a great reminder to run for the pleasure of running and no other reason. Because it's what we are made to do. Because we don't need reasons. Because it's pointless anyway.<br />
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I celebrate ten years of continuous sobriety at this writing. I'm grateful I get to do these things. Some days I'm surprised I'm alive, much less able to run ultras. Yes, I'm alive. I'm breathing. I'm still here.<br />
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-13449766214747111082016-04-17T18:34:00.002-07:002016-04-17T18:56:30.299-07:00Zumbro 2016: Something About a Bear and an Owl and the Number Six<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The race director checks his emails while marking course a couple days before the race.</td></tr>
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My toes sting with cold at the start. My head is congested and I'm nursing a sore throat. A couple miles into this, past the Telephone Booth Overlook and under the lovely evergreens, my feet begin to warm with blood flow and movement.</div>
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Let's just get this out of the way early. I'm wearing women's pants. Jogging Knickers by Oiselle. I wanted something between full tights and shorts, and this is the closest thing I could find at the store I work at. So what if they're made by a women's clothing line? They're manpris if I'm wearing them.</div>
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This course has four main climbs. They are all short and get steep. The first happens almost immediately, the climb to the campground overlook at Telephone Booth. It's the least cruel of them. The second is just before Aid Station 2 and it tops out at a pavilion in a field. If it needs a name I recommend we call it Stinky. Just because. The third is Picnic Rock. It's steep but it ends quickly. The last major climb happens when we leave Aid Station 3 and it takes us up to the ridgetop where we get a nice distant view of Aid Station 4 and the Zumbro River valley. That's only four climbs. Multiplied by six loops, they tend to grow a little each loop. But it's not the climbs that grind us at Zumbro, it's the descents. They're steep and technical and full of loose rocks that move under our feet and roll down the ravines with us. In the last couple loops our<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> quads and hip flexors will sing with pain and cramps and curse u<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">s</span>. But now it's early and the ground is unusually hard for Zumbro. There's no mud, no ice, no snow. At least not in the early parts of the first loop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">W</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">e h<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">ear the unmistakable sound of sandhill cranes moving above us. I <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">shade</span> my eyes and scan the sky but don't see them. I heard them at this same spot last year.</span></span></span></div>
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I'm running with TJ Jeannette. We run together at home, although he's a faster runner when it counts. We rode to the race together. We ran the first 42 miles of Superior together last year. I enjoy his company. Assertive but not aggressive, we tell ourselves. Do no harm early, we tell ourselves. Still, spots in this first loop seem fast, faster than anything we've discussed. Even though I'm the one pushing the pace at times. Boys get excited. We will adjust and back off on the climbs. We have a rhythm. I run the downs faster while he climbs quicker. I spend longer at the aid stations (so chatty!). Somehow we end up running together most of the time. I tell him, we make a good team, and it's true. </div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This is Barney's first ultra and he's handling it like the boss that he is. </span></span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He's an accomplished trail dog and has put down heavy miles on the Superior Hiking Trail. He loves skiing frozen rivers in the winter. He's an old dog and arthritic and walks slowly and crooked, but today he's got a bounce in his step, although it's still a crooked bounce. </span></span><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He greets us in the chute at the campground. He's already made friends with everyone possible. </span></span><br />
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I try to eat something real at each aid station. Mainly bananas. I drink Tailwind from my hydration pack and eat a gel every hour or so.</div>
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Climbing away from Aid Station 3 on loop 2 with TJ and Nate Ziemski, I'm working the hill too hard. My heart rate's too high. I'm dizzy and a little nauseous. It's too early to feel this way. I cut the string and back off. I don't expect to see those guys again. They're both fast and strong runners. I down a gel and work the Tailwind. It's funny how quickly calories change things. I float down Ant Hill and catch a glimpse of TJ's red jacket at the bottom. I'm moving better and catch him on the river road. He's in the same place I was in ten minutes ago. </div>
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The beavers have worked the trees between the river and the road. <br />
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"Eat something," I say. "Run with me." I keep moving as he slides out of my periphery. At first I feel guilty for not walking with him. But I'd get mad if he slowed for me. Also, knowing that he was just ahead when I was hurting helped me move a little better. Not in a competitive kind of way, but in a brotherhood feeling. He will catch me soon. I know it. And he does, shortly after Aid Station 4. He's climbed through his dark spot, and we laugh about it. At Superior, we suffered through miles 30-40, and it seems like something similar might be shaping up here. Although I know there is plenty of challenge ahead. We're only a third of the way into this thing. We've both been here before, finding the way to convince our bodies to accept that the long haul is upon us.<br />
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Or maybe we don't come into the campground together. Lisa's notes say we were a minute apart. Memory gets weird. Things get fuzzy. After years of self-destruction, that area of my brain doesn't work well, and long runs amplify my lack of memory. We talk about easing off the pace more and it seems like a great idea at the time.</div>
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TJ's cute kid Coby is home with strep throat and his awesome wife Kelley is home with Coby. So my awesome wife Lisa feeds us both and lifts our spirits. She offers us warm clothes and lots of jokes. She is incredible.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit John Storkamp</td></tr>
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I simply want to beat darkness with this third loop. Nothing matters yet. I'm still settling in. TJ and I discuss Axl Rose singing for AC/DC. It's still light when I finish the loop. TJ is ahead now, just leaving the campground when I come in. I don't expect to see him again and I won't. I drink soup. I change into a dry top and add a shell. I am still comfortable in my Oiselle pants.</div>
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When I leave the campground I want to cover as many miles as I can before darkness falls. </div>
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The temperature drops. Aid station bananas remind me of Dairy Queen Monkey Tails. My gels are Icees.</div>
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Not far beyond Aid Station 1, I turn the headlamp on. The big loose rocks are white and seem even whiter under the headlamp. They glow. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh46MbcrWpI2SyvdtGzL7V5GJi85Oo9qN2FZHGSjHlDjFYHeULqmd6QkN-bdnIjTNkOOy1NOK3IRiCSv66AjbLJsaKKFk4CI3KIaNKMVW8kSf3zkzfggjusgYCCQyGpBv79Xbl7v2CTAJA/s1600/IMG_6486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh46MbcrWpI2SyvdtGzL7V5GJi85Oo9qN2FZHGSjHlDjFYHeULqmd6QkN-bdnIjTNkOOy1NOK3IRiCSv66AjbLJsaKKFk4CI3KIaNKMVW8kSf3zkzfggjusgYCCQyGpBv79Xbl7v2CTAJA/s320/IMG_6486.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Onions</td></tr>
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In the dark I hear owls. <br />
<br />
On the river road the lights of Aid Station 4 reflect in the water under the bridge like a lighthouse.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTffUL8WhSzZ8Dajkt30Xsz60QiKz9UbcdhFaL_zwc2ggo0ynsuVmr7MXh8e0dZ2tv5Wdy41jfXxTq206hwu-M1bnzcmfjMiZLCKJ7BFYtkWQSVAc6_PEse4oEVV-K3QDg6Wkgimsy9E/s1600/IMG_6491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTffUL8WhSzZ8Dajkt30Xsz60QiKz9UbcdhFaL_zwc2ggo0ynsuVmr7MXh8e0dZ2tv5Wdy41jfXxTq206hwu-M1bnzcmfjMiZLCKJ7BFYtkWQSVAc6_PEse4oEVV-K3QDg6Wkgimsy9E/s320/IMG_6491.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marking course.</td></tr>
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At the campground my friend, Toby, unscrews the lid of my milk and rubs my shoulders. These simple acts of kindness overwhelm me.<br />
<br />
I start loop 4 about a half hour or forty minutes ahead of the fifty milers. The first runners come upon me between the first and second aid stations. Kurt owns the store I work at and Tim paced me last year at Superior. An hour into this, their lead is huge. They are going to beat the shit out of each other all night, I think. This will get ugly. When they are gone, I realize I should have had them relay a message ahead to TJ, something absurd, bizarre, funny and perhaps pornographic, something to get him laughing and raise his spirits in the night.<br />
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Other fifty-milers eventually come by. Some are friends. Lindsay's happy to see me and having fun on the double wide trail. Scott comes around me at the top of the descent from Picnic Rock and disappears into the darkness. Shelly recognizes my voice or maybe my tattoo and her voice behind me is like a warm light. It's great to see them all.<br />
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I step aside for groups of runners and worry I'll fall over beside the trail. Their encouragement gives me energy, but moving aside for them is work in the dark and the trenched trails. My legs tremble while they pass. I reach for branches or rocks to steady myself.<br />
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Their lights on distant ridges and valleys are beautiful lines.<br />
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I hear water moving somewhere.<br />
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I drink broth at the aid stations. I time my gel consumption by the upcoming climbs.<br />
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Somehow I'm on my fifth loop. I walk the entire section up Picnic Rock and through the Sand Coulee. Early in the race I told TJ that he would end up swearing every time he came through the sand. "I'm going to smile every time I see sand," he said. "Me too," I said. I am cold and I am dizzy and nauseous and it's the loveliest night ever and I'm having the time of my life and all this sand makes me smile and giggle to myself.<br />
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At some point I take my pack off and dig out another pair of gloves and despite wearing two pairs my fingers ache with cold. At Aid Station 3 I take a seat by the fire. My shins burn from its heat. My face feels paralyzed from it, as if it won't ever move again. It's psychedelic how rubbery my face feels. It's time to go.<br />
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I pick my way around each rock on Ant Hill. They glow and somehow I delicately make a line through them. I am resolved to getting through this loop and I'm not worried about how long it takes. I've long ago accepted that the body and spirit slow down at this time. It's simple biology. Everything in me wants sleep and warmth. The sun when it comes will bring resurrection.<br />
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I hear coyotes yipping.<br />
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I grab a cup of soup broth and a Coke and take a seat by the fire at Aid Station 4. I expect Erik Lindstrom will kick me out if I stay too long but he tells me he's been Ubering dropped runners to the campground.<br />
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I hear Lindsay coming through telling someone she's a road runner. "Not anymore," I shout. I'm glad she's having so much fun.<br />
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I can't wait to find my mittens at the campground. I move on.<br />
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Lisa and Barney are snuggled into the back of the Jeep and I sit in the passenger seat and turn the heat on. Maybe it's already on. Lisa digs out my mittens from piles of clothes back there while I put my hands over the blowers. She says she had set our packs outside for us and they froze (we've been switching packs each loop), so TJ had her put mine back in the car. It doesn't matter. I'm hardly able to drink anything anyway. I'll stick with the pack I've been wearing. I've been sucking down Coke at the aid stations, straight sugar injections instead of the Tailwind mixture in my pack. I sit in the car too long, but at some point I say, "This last loop won't run itself."<br />
<br />
I wanted to tell her that every day I fall in love with her. I get this way, like a little boy drunk on love. But I've avoided bringing it up because she will give me endless shit about it and I give her enough reason to ride me already. <br />
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Those first steps out of the campground are tough. The legs are tight and the downhill muscles--the quads and hip flexors--are angry. I don't know how many steps I can run at a time. When I catch myself walking I ask myself why. If there's no reason (say it's a hill) I force myself to run. If one can call this running.<br />
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Joel and Kyle and Chris and Jake come up behind me on the climb to the campground overlook. I fall in line behind them. Joel is one of the nicest people I know, and the positivity of this group and their teamwork picks me up and carries me along. These guys are having fun together. With their company, I've got more energy. I glance to our right and see light on the horizon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyxPuiltEqzwhKWZJv2k487sJjLcqeAXe8apZlwUzg8q_tlxbD_GyBM32SzxFhwE4-WwEUA2biz292Xukf-9fOjO08e28H6G5sjSsWr6FpIF12A5_moq7giBSFEZcMrPj3U9GYjY_w6I/s1600/DSCF3274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJyxPuiltEqzwhKWZJv2k487sJjLcqeAXe8apZlwUzg8q_tlxbD_GyBM32SzxFhwE4-WwEUA2biz292Xukf-9fOjO08e28H6G5sjSsWr6FpIF12A5_moq7giBSFEZcMrPj3U9GYjY_w6I/s320/DSCF3274.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I come through the first aid station, announce my number, say thanks and keep moving. I'm too nauseous to deal with food. I'm eating gels and that's it. I do the same at each aid station.<br />
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This is my celebration loop. It's a painful dance of gratitude.<br />
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I hear turkeys calling through the trees.<br />
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I wonder which is faster, my walk or my run. But I'm moving well. My walk has purpose. And my run still exists.</div>
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At the last aid station I slam a Coke and briefly listen to Bill and Matt's jokes.</div>
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"You can break 25 hours if you hurry," Matt says. "If you run eight minute miles."</div>
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"Watch me sprint up this hill," I say. I slowly walk the hill. "I'm sprinting up the hill now." I hear Kathy yell, "Amazeballs!" from the aid station. She and Maria are having a blast.</div>
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These legs hurt so I climb into the moment. Each step is here. Each breath is now. It's the only way I know how to move with the pain. With this and gratitude and humility I move toward the finish. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMKhebYH8nFHWCTelawJMABW2_uPQTU2EO0zxTW9z1e6zMdubfQ6oZWBEgHjiTBgqoKRPrBGw2jvUmpF-w2IgSFV8Hy7z0hu7RGPEE1oo19YazrqxfRtDFD6DQrCZ1EyXG6ADcgpIemo/s1600/DSC_0366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMKhebYH8nFHWCTelawJMABW2_uPQTU2EO0zxTW9z1e6zMdubfQ6oZWBEgHjiTBgqoKRPrBGw2jvUmpF-w2IgSFV8Hy7z0hu7RGPEE1oo19YazrqxfRtDFD6DQrCZ1EyXG6ADcgpIemo/s320/DSC_0366.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just before the end. Photo credit David Shannon.</td></tr>
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It's emotional crossing the campground for the last time. I want to cry. My throat is tight. Somehow I've lost my cap and my ears feel the wind here. Barney greets me. It's like how some people finish with their kids. I wrap my arms around Lisa and she holds me up. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0pst1vyOg6BewBizGwmkMBQ6ID8DaY1MXCTSzOYsAP-L3nL5bn1awlaISoNfKQao__AeaUEDYIDoZdqQJ0C4GRNAVxe10yismCftCgPl_bS43wtfRgtFEy6lYTU-Ssy91_peOFvQ_9s/s1600/IMG_6609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0pst1vyOg6BewBizGwmkMBQ6ID8DaY1MXCTSzOYsAP-L3nL5bn1awlaISoNfKQao__AeaUEDYIDoZdqQJ0C4GRNAVxe10yismCftCgPl_bS43wtfRgtFEy6lYTU-Ssy91_peOFvQ_9s/s320/IMG_6609.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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TJ has finished just under 24 hours and won his (our) age group. I finished one spot behind him in 8th place at 25:17. I feel like I scrapped for every second. </div>
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Running loops in the woods all day and night is meaningless. There's a beauty in the meaninglessness that we shouldn't let go of. It's not going to change the world, what just happened. But I've gotten to do this thing I love with people I enjoy and care about and for that I am blessed and grateful. So many people have helped to make it possible.</div>
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TJ and I sit in the Jeep with the heat blowing on us. He points out a tree across the field. He says it looks like a topiary bear.</div>
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"What does topiary mean again?" I ask.</div>
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"Someone climbed up there with a saw and cut the tree into the shape of a bear. Do you see the snout and the ears."</div>
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"Yep. I see it. I see those ears." It looks like one of those Grateful Dead dancing bears. Some Deadhead lumberjack did that.</div>
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When we tell Lisa about the bear, she is amused. She walks with purpose to our friends standing near the finish. They all look across the field at the trees. They look back at us. One by one they come to the Jeep and we roll down the window and point the tree bear out. TJ and I might be looking at different trees. But I like my bear.</div>
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We watch many friends finish under the watchful eyes of the tree bear. Kurt has won the 50. Lindsay wins too. And Shelley, as usual, is carrying her award as well. But it's Tom Weigt who seems to be the most successful. He comes by the Jeep and jokes with us before setting out on his final loop of the 50. He is having so much fun he seems to be glowing. He's always having fun. He has this thing figured out. </div>
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Thanks to all the volunteers, directors, friends old and new, fellow runners, and especially Lisa for being a part of this. </div>
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<br />Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-84816576214607745222015-09-30T08:24:00.001-07:002015-09-30T10:19:26.012-07:00Arise: Superior 100, 2015<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84NroWZFabjTFeDQh4RHIUAr-z04atQ_32IEzDMzLZOJ_TQ6PEBCNlwAhnpW99jaqrjrdu093JjA9fxRhpB2CsOma7LpORYdyuocwYKlIocB9QYrRBtmH8trwNP3gsJKNXrnmVbKjrSw/s640/blogger-image-790620058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84NroWZFabjTFeDQh4RHIUAr-z04atQ_32IEzDMzLZOJ_TQ6PEBCNlwAhnpW99jaqrjrdu093JjA9fxRhpB2CsOma7LpORYdyuocwYKlIocB9QYrRBtmH8trwNP3gsJKNXrnmVbKjrSw/s640/blogger-image-790620058.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Arielle Anderson</td></tr>
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<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13df-239e-094d-3ff0319bc251" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Tuesday after the race I'm in Old Country Buffet debriefing with TJ Jeannette, Tim Hardy, and Jordan Weseley. TJ had an amazing race and finished the 100 with an incredible time. Jordan finished the 50 and seems to be walking fine. Tim paced me from Crosby Manitou to the end, over 40miles, the farthest he's continuously run. TJ's telling us about racing to make it to the Finland aid station before dark because he had no headlamp with him.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Dude, why didn't you just take one of mine at Highway 6?" I ask. "I had extra." We ran all the way to County Highway 6 together.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He looks at me like I'm the dumbest person on the planet. Maybe I am. There's something I'm not getting here.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"We talked about this," he says. "On the trail and at the aid station before I left."</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Briefly, I'm thrown back to the days of my drinking, when blackouts were common and people often reminded me of saying stupid things I didn't remember saying.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br class="kix-line-break" />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This isn't like that. There's no shame here. No fear of what I may have said or done. Few apologies to be made. The masks are off now. But it's a warning for the rest of this report. Memory is a fluid and tricky thing in a 100 miler. I'll get some things wrong in the details, maybe mix up some names and locations, but hopefully, we'll discover that other--perhaps more real--truth of what happened out there.</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuUXOZ4V5yPFyVnCg7JpbQkD4PCEVKo4wVJZ6QR0vws5zNEi_3d1a1FnGe-_750oTFZiBEnV8AQ7vEKGg8iIPLk-EhPE4BBhh-xIplygm1HamsnM5SYgaU0NQ0g5Velz06hetVAgGQhQ/s640/blogger-image--645327595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuUXOZ4V5yPFyVnCg7JpbQkD4PCEVKo4wVJZ6QR0vws5zNEi_3d1a1FnGe-_750oTFZiBEnV8AQ7vEKGg8iIPLk-EhPE4BBhh-xIplygm1HamsnM5SYgaU0NQ0g5Velz06hetVAgGQhQ/s640/blogger-image--645327595.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13e6-616b-8899-48a91522c993" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Lisa and I hit the North Shore on Wednesday before the race. We meet Jason and Amy Husveth for dinner at the Coho Cafe and have such a lovely visit. They're back again for breakfast Thursday morning and so are we. Jason and I discuss the possibilities of a thirty hour race and as usual, he gives great advice about execution. Jason's chasing his fifth finish. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztfJcXMeud2sT0Ru6bO5s30MK4_WXXdk3-fw5XqIXsteXyuVaKKL9OLKJFAZB53W9a-0iXZphCTCTp0Qa_0v_15jvjlZw2FIq559LFruLddquviVVieM1UvEBxrRcMgZQsPsRzAAya18/s640/blogger-image--1804709320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztfJcXMeud2sT0Ru6bO5s30MK4_WXXdk3-fw5XqIXsteXyuVaKKL9OLKJFAZB53W9a-0iXZphCTCTp0Qa_0v_15jvjlZw2FIq559LFruLddquviVVieM1UvEBxrRcMgZQsPsRzAAya18/s640/blogger-image--1804709320.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13e7-3837-25c0-5a9387544864" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Then Lisa and I hike the Temperance River area. We see the marking crew planting reflective ribbons. I yell to them across the river but they can't make out my words. I throw out a simple Woo! instead. Mushrooms are everywhere. Sharing this trail with my love is exactly what I want to be doing.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaZqZSPN2xWbyZK2EfEGKOfR2oY5nu0JjEDcRm7ly3rKYLk6H_5QLjm9UI_2AVRgc9Jw5RX8mAvmQZO168eopZymmt7jDC9lszcSkR7man5RxuiyOEco2c_I2xCRAPQemewJEAhfPWQ8/s640/blogger-image--347439696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzvW3cmozX7Ypbl4e1d0TDOm4QHkak72_pCs9mN5ts3Nj1fshaWloPckgy0Eceh-oITLijex2S_eIt7tmWbgdbybKcyljU64JDLIYIdu-8DqhS0GWEMDAnUVeymi2YADKH-FcNYXMnww/s1600/P9100035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzvW3cmozX7Ypbl4e1d0TDOm4QHkak72_pCs9mN5ts3Nj1fshaWloPckgy0Eceh-oITLijex2S_eIt7tmWbgdbybKcyljU64JDLIYIdu-8DqhS0GWEMDAnUVeymi2YADKH-FcNYXMnww/s640/P9100035.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13eb-9249-a0d3-63a39c379fed" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We head to Grand Marais. I load up on tacos at Hughie's. This is my prerace nutrition and karma plan. I eat one while sitting here and will leave with three more. One will serve as a sacrificial offering to our race director. One will be tonight's meal, and the other will wait in the hotel refrigerator while I run. They are good cold. So good.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1IcnFvtuZUnBlATeDXz3GWeNW8fqGvrPLv-EWOuAxbUI4AJ-YNy4i0ka0Vh-07LmCer1AcKVz9JG-vIF_uJT5ADENSn_xOD_b3fZhoPZ-LTl91FJFuORF_dXgmVyQiPS-9X4quXNv_M/s640/blogger-image--2022452934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1IcnFvtuZUnBlATeDXz3GWeNW8fqGvrPLv-EWOuAxbUI4AJ-YNy4i0ka0Vh-07LmCer1AcKVz9JG-vIF_uJT5ADENSn_xOD_b3fZhoPZ-LTl91FJFuORF_dXgmVyQiPS-9X4quXNv_M/s640/blogger-image--2022452934.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13ed-87f5-01a2-dee40455b20f" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In Hughie's I make a list of my goals for the race. These goals have been in my head for awhile, but I need to write them down, to see the ink bleed into paper, to invoke them as real creatures walking the earth.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I've been thinking about thirty hours for months. Is it possible for me this year? I can't know unless I try. But how to try? Do I run safe? A finish is no guarantee. And what does it mean to run smart here? No matter what happens, I'll slow down during the race, especially at night. I accept that as part of the plan. Can I run assertively early without being too aggressive, without blowing up? And doesn't blowing up happen anyway in these eventually? Isn't suffering, or at least pain or discomfort, part of why we show up? To see what happens in the face of it all? So should I just lean into the pain and embrace it sooner rather than later? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I've thought too much about time, about when it might be the smartest to get to the halfway mark at Finland. I hope to make it there somewhere between 13 and 13:30. But ultimately I decide that time is a silly thing, that thirty hours is a completely arbitrary goal, that I need to run by feel, to enjoy the experience, every bit of it, the views, the burning feet, the night running, to absorb it and breathe it and bathe in it. To live it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Still, it'd be nice to do all that in less than thirty hours.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaYEeu56FF-YInN6u6oBnJnQJvOn__YB5UQ-_ihN1ppKkIWUJXkGPtoPg1_TayPFPH5O3kpbs1VJx58PGNeXLGLGuEDMYJt3JU5iVb1oEdTyH3obw3l4pdi3UybMgG8xtgkD0NPa9CAbU/s640/blogger-image-1711569321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaYEeu56FF-YInN6u6oBnJnQJvOn__YB5UQ-_ihN1ppKkIWUJXkGPtoPg1_TayPFPH5O3kpbs1VJx58PGNeXLGLGuEDMYJt3JU5iVb1oEdTyH3obw3l4pdi3UybMgG8xtgkD0NPa9CAbU/s640/blogger-image-1711569321.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I usually give myself loads of social anxiety at big gatherings. That doesn't happen at the prerace briefing. I get there early and bounce from friendly face to friendly face. It's fun seeing so many friends and also meeting people I barely know. I don't feel I'm good at that kind of stuff, I say awkward and uncomfortable and inappropriate things. But this is just a good time party going on tonight.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">John has asked me to say a few words about Harry Sloan and Tami Tanski-Sherman during the briefing. They were the original race directors, the people who started this when Superior was one of only a handful of 100s in the country. My job tonight is to introduce them as part of their induction into the Superior Hall of Fame. What an humbling honor. I don't want to screw it up. It's important to give Harry and Tami the respect they deserve. I keep my filter on, don't swear, and get through it, although I forget to share an experience Dusty Olson told me about Harry Sloan. When Dusty was young, in sixth or seventh grade, he was at Harry's house watching him prepare for an ultramarathon. Maybe it was the Edmund Fitzgerald, a 100k along Highway 61. Maybe it was something else; after all, Harry has a dozen finishes at Western States (the race that was his inspiration for Superior). Dusty says he knew about marathons, but had no idea people ran longer than that. This opened his world up to possibilities, and in this way Harry inspired a future generation of top ultra runners. John gives them their awards and I step off stage. </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The awards John made have the original buckle design on them. </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I remind John to tell the crowd that Harry's running the 100 this year, for the first time, at 67 years old. I feel so much relief now that it's over. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxHr7AQBJr-gief2JZH95-Wlduo0xwZros5JlTEdvIRoszlomn_ECGq1CnvNmJjKNXEy7FN2KuNaKYAibTxrifxfSaAUOaqcJAxBtQo93TrtQlAa6X_BinpVMXh0K0aT4rxTpM_zIaIM/s640/blogger-image-916588921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxHr7AQBJr-gief2JZH95-Wlduo0xwZros5JlTEdvIRoszlomn_ECGq1CnvNmJjKNXEy7FN2KuNaKYAibTxrifxfSaAUOaqcJAxBtQo93TrtQlAa6X_BinpVMXh0K0aT4rxTpM_zIaIM/s640/blogger-image-916588921.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inducting Tami and Harry into the Superior Hall of Fame</td></tr>
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<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13f5-6eea-f4f0-2d585c08df69" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In the hotel lobby at Caribou Highlands a golden retriever with a friendly graying face tries to hump my leg. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Before bed I hang out with my parents. They're staying in the room next to us at Caribou Highlands. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Race start is that usual blend of excitement, greetings, and multiple bathroom visits. I bump into Al Bohlke and Mike Johnson, both also former runners at Osseo High School. Our coach from those days, Jim Deane, passed away the week before, and I show them my picture of Jimbo laminated to the flip side of my pace chart. Coach Deane is running this with me. I think he's going to have a blast out there and I want to make him proud.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHMovVW-EwRFFIgsxRwCk1jbM3XLbqftkbwZZwS-dmxZnZNYWa1blcBiJKEqIKu7-8YDfUjL3KHSWbAj4wr9Qh-wdORxtfkP1HsNmpVW9VCD4pBTvs8QlQgXhgA3KoONh9XzPjt4thYs/s640/blogger-image-1835695676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHMovVW-EwRFFIgsxRwCk1jbM3XLbqftkbwZZwS-dmxZnZNYWa1blcBiJKEqIKu7-8YDfUjL3KHSWbAj4wr9Qh-wdORxtfkP1HsNmpVW9VCD4pBTvs8QlQgXhgA3KoONh9XzPjt4thYs/s640/blogger-image-1835695676.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with Al Bohlke and Coach Jim Deane</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The start is different this year, the first four miles or so are pavement. I like it. People can spread out and move around each other. There's no accordion lines at each hill, log and creek like there are on the single-track we'll follow the rest of the race. It's faster too.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When we cross underneath Highway 61 and leave the pavement at the Split Rock River wayside, TJ comes up behind me. At home TJ and I run together on his easy days. We do lunch and talk about Superior when no other people in our lives want to hear about it anymore. We ride to races together. We mark trails together. He's one of my favorite people. "Where you been?" I say.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I fly down the hill into the Split Rock aid station with complete abandon to gravity, drink a cup of water and grab a banana to eat on the uphill. At the top, Donny Clark and John Horns are directing traffic and handing out high fives and smiles and encouragement. John totally messes with TJ's head and when TJ asks me about it later, I can't stop laughing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br class="kix-line-break" />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">TJ and I know each other's running. In fact, TJ has already filled in my pacer, Tim, about my running idiosyncrasies (bombs the downs, gets quiet when hurting but likes to hear talk then, etc.). This familiarity means we fall into easy roles. I go ahead on the downs and move aside on the climbs. We pace each other through these early miles. It seems we have fallen into a natural and mutually comfortable tempo.</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNuAVBTObgobFGVOwnynCe6wsIB_UtC-y9UPsoJFMIuaqMird5sGWeblZgYmcqN9QVfqMpv7ZrN5Zn2EypcF77DxTUfEBp5ZwY8en-FGpDA1jZyvipCYpyjsF7-0-GsebEWd1ZWNmyiw/s640/blogger-image-450999134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNuAVBTObgobFGVOwnynCe6wsIB_UtC-y9UPsoJFMIuaqMird5sGWeblZgYmcqN9QVfqMpv7ZrN5Zn2EypcF77DxTUfEBp5ZwY8en-FGpDA1jZyvipCYpyjsF7-0-GsebEWd1ZWNmyiw/s640/blogger-image-450999134.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13f9-bae3-6bff-3212e7734d76" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We get to Beaver Bay ahead of our wives and move through quickly with the help of Dusty and volunteers (thanks Kate!). We are far ahead of schedule but we take what the course and the day gives us. We are fresh and happy at twenty miles. The weather is perfect. It will be perfect all weekend. I think of this next section to Silver Bay as short and grinding and technical, but Silver Bay appears much quicker than I expect it to. It's good to see Lisa and my dad here. Kelley and Uncle Tony and others greet TJ. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8bxKAe0f0v9rb_4ClVh7QaeXqfxRh8eVN61P_ER2jiI0ITNu4naWsQL5daLi9VyqoRCZd5nlLvq6M2tgT0Q-uUO64UCniflXrkQkVX3Ox3NsWgprMHBDRvxgt1GKT0qqUlCMuFJWoV8/s640/blogger-image-2134961400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8bxKAe0f0v9rb_4ClVh7QaeXqfxRh8eVN61P_ER2jiI0ITNu4naWsQL5daLi9VyqoRCZd5nlLvq6M2tgT0Q-uUO64UCniflXrkQkVX3Ox3NsWgprMHBDRvxgt1GKT0qqUlCMuFJWoV8/s640/blogger-image-2134961400.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13fa-ec4f-3fc9-47961c64ab87" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Of course we slow down in the next section to Tettegouche. It's a lot of climbing. We often say "wow" at the expansive views. We point out mushrooms and I try to name some for TJ. Fly agaric. Lobster claws. Dead man's fingers. Hen of the woods. Corals. I get mixed up and wonder if I'm right on some of those names. TJ gets quiet. He's feeling some hurt. He's extra polite.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_YXGOwIb4wOmVOK5CYJi7L2e0uDEvf559x9KYZ9W-a8VTUevbJwTSpHThZEZQjrSWiy0oHUBzJDDbRAIjMoeqZBTMpOUyYGznqArdFueDUzg31wquNvjuCceYc6t4F_boAhl7cdA7pI/s640/blogger-image--1569913725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_YXGOwIb4wOmVOK5CYJi7L2e0uDEvf559x9KYZ9W-a8VTUevbJwTSpHThZEZQjrSWiy0oHUBzJDDbRAIjMoeqZBTMpOUyYGznqArdFueDUzg31wquNvjuCceYc6t4F_boAhl7cdA7pI/s640/blogger-image--1569913725.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13fb-bfa5-03b9-755387b167e8" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Thanks for leading here," TJ says. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br class="kix-line-break" />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"You watch your own bobber," he says.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br class="kix-line-break" />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13fa-ec4f-3fc9-47961c64ab87" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
vision from my right eye is fuzzy and vague. My contact lens has sweat
cakes that I try to blink away, but they will still be there throughout the race.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We are both cramping by Tettegouche.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br class="kix-line-break" />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I fall and roll to my right with it. TJ and Dan Harke stop to help me up. I have to ride the cramp out before standing.</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMVmCMqt7sTOk10mmr01WHJE99tUXbFANlzWp-TxrVUV0OXjqoFxRuzFndmQrwSOnKWQpCVcQpbWfqGY8l4H7EfQ9uFw1GyRj0LQFMoTC3isiywDRAFoF-fGAay49w7TXK1Ikx1-0Xlk/s640/blogger-image-194697354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMVmCMqt7sTOk10mmr01WHJE99tUXbFANlzWp-TxrVUV0OXjqoFxRuzFndmQrwSOnKWQpCVcQpbWfqGY8l4H7EfQ9uFw1GyRj0LQFMoTC3isiywDRAFoF-fGAay49w7TXK1Ikx1-0Xlk/s640/blogger-image-194697354.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-13fe-30dd-7c61-c427396fbbaa" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The climbing after we cross Highway 1 is miserable. It's what we're here for. We decide this climb to the Fantasia Overlook needs a legendary name. Our low spots overlap. For both of us, this is the lowest point of the race and the place where we will cramp the most. Hundreds seem to work this way for me, where the hurt comes early and I somehow punch through it, although the hurt never really goes away. It's as if we must convince our bodies to settle in for the long haul, or perhaps we are just fooling ourselves aid station to aid station. TJ seems to be rallying some while I'm sinking into it. I wonder why I'm running with TJ. He's a much faster runner than I am. Much faster. Maybe I don't belong here. I get overly polite.</span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Thanks for leading," I say. "Watch your own bobber," I say. "Don't worry about me."</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I slam three gels in a row.</span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Dude," I say. "This is so fun running with you. It's still fun."</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We both say several times: "Holy smokes! Isn't this a blast? We're so lucky and blessed to be doing this!" </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And it is. And we are.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Apparently we talk about headlamps. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br class="kix-line-break" /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">By the time we hit County Road 6 I'm in desperate need of soup broth and watermelon. Coby, TJ's son, runs through the grass to meet him. Coby's whole body is smiling. Dusty has been waiting here to pace TJ and I'm excited to run some with him but we're too early to pick up a pacer. It's a weird feeling and Dusty thinks it's funny. We all do. I don't feel like I should be moving this fast. I don't feel I should be here this early. But I am. I start to ditch my soup broth when TJ's ready to leave, then I remember the cramping. I need this fuel. "You go ahead," I say. "I'll try to catch up. But don't wait. Mind your own bobber."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Apparently we talk about headlamps again. Maybe I tell him I'll catch up with extras. I'm not sure. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ErZu3IzesEgNUC2RG2vveWlAjxmKnsQt-BGnDf-tqamcUUXyQZCXPFwgQtPmH68TV_V-DDC0dLmF3qvI1S2R69M2xvyzI7qDCYQw3qp_FZ04eaJ6sH-SDzCZwGzy1Wfj7ku1P_cXga8/s640/blogger-image--1060576920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ErZu3IzesEgNUC2RG2vveWlAjxmKnsQt-BGnDf-tqamcUUXyQZCXPFwgQtPmH68TV_V-DDC0dLmF3qvI1S2R69M2xvyzI7qDCYQw3qp_FZ04eaJ6sH-SDzCZwGzy1Wfj7ku1P_cXga8/s640/blogger-image--1060576920.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-1401-aa5b-a666-6225019974c2" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I won't run with TJ anymore this race. The string is cut. I'm grateful for our time out here together. I hope he'll have an amazing race, the race of his life. And he will. He will move through the night with one of the best pacers in the world of ultrarunning. He will leave the halfway point in 36th place and finish in 11th, just under 26 hours, a time he hasn't even considered in his goals. He will tear that shit to pieces.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I move well to Finland with a bit of a slow start but I'm flying on the long downhills. The cramps are still whispering. I see TJ and Dusty leaving when I'm coming in. I'm so happy they're moving well too. Dusty turns around and follows me shaking his headlamp at me like a strobe light and laughing. I've been running 11:42 when I get into Finland, far ahead of the 13 to 13:30 I was hoping for. But it doesn't feel stupid yet. So far I've taken what the trail and the day has given me and I hope to move well through the night without my wheels falling off completely.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Lisa takes care of me at Finland. My parents are there. I pound some broth and watermelon. The cramps have mostly disappeared. Lisa tells me Joe Boler is out of the race with a twisted ankle. Drag! I'm sad for Joe. I've got a hot spot on my big toe but I don't want to take the time to take care of it. It's almost dark. I can't believe I'm here this early. I put on a dry shirt, a new buff, arm sleeves and a hat. I'm ready for the night.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When I move across the field I stop at a gate and stretch my quads before entering the woods. My hands are cold. Should I go back for gloves? I keep moving forward instead.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm with Eric Nordgren when we see Shawn Severson in the spur. She looks a little lost, a little confused. We tell her she's there already, at the aid station. It's just across the field. It's dark and our headlamps are on. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Eric moves ahead. The alone time on the trail is nice. I fall forward into my ring of light from my headlamp. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm greeted at Sonju aid station by Tom Kurtovich, who's worked this race since its beginning. My toe is on fire so I grab a cup of soup broth and sit, hoping a minute or two off the feet will reset it. After three minutes I pop up and ask where Tom is. I want to say bye.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Tom who?"</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Tom Kurtovich, the radio guy. Did he leave?"</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"No one left," they say. "There's no Tom here."</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Will it be one of those nights where the senses play trick or treat? </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My feet are feeling better and it's not far to Crosby where I'll meet my pacer.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I know I talked to Tom.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I see faint traces of the northern lights through treetops. Green pulses.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">An owl seems to follow me with its calls. Maybe it's more than one. Maybe they're talking about me. Maybe they're talking about the northern lights. Maybe they're comforting each other in a night filled with strange humans moving through their world.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Shadows move at the edge of my vision.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And then the sky opens above me and I'm out of the trees and on gravel running toward the Crosby Manitou parking lot</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> and stars dapple the night</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">John and Cheri Storkamp greet me on the road. I tell them I've walked much of the last section but I'm feeling good and having fun, whatever that means. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Most everybody walks some at night, they say. Keep having fun. I can't tell if it's John or Cheri that said it. I wonder if they sleep this weekend.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I knock on the window of the Jeep and tell Lisa and Tim to meet me ahead at the aid station. I need to sit again. I'm greeted at the aid station with a hug from Kathy Jambor. And a chair. I'm nauseous and only have water and ginger ale here. It's too bad because the buffet is open.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOcobOb3yDOAy7be8S1vKa-5SlY5fMIqXIJLels__bhmBzcrlaVc97FDg1rSh4k8WN7HwAcMhmedvdBUkw6FEhQMWHzTQER3cjNEjB1f456p3GX91zqJGDmIRLvPCj-48C7snxthcxHw/s640/blogger-image-1120107069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOcobOb3yDOAy7be8S1vKa-5SlY5fMIqXIJLels__bhmBzcrlaVc97FDg1rSh4k8WN7HwAcMhmedvdBUkw6FEhQMWHzTQER3cjNEjB1f456p3GX91zqJGDmIRLvPCj-48C7snxthcxHw/s640/blogger-image-1120107069.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathy and Maria and other volunteers rocking Crosby Manitou.</td></tr>
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<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-f7921398-140a-a4df-e377-8c8610503443" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm excited about having a pacer. I've never used one before. I know Tim as a super nice guy. I've run with him some but he's also super fast so I don't run with him often. He's considering running the Mankato Marathon and has the title to defend there, so we've agreed to limit the pacing to around 30 miles. Our plan is for him to get me through this section, take a break and then pick me up again at Temperance to bring me home. We leave the aid station with Lisa telling us, "Don't be Sallys out there boys."</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Tim's right behind me. His light over my shoulder opens up my world. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We drop down to the Manitou River and shine our lights on it as we cross the bridge. It's alive beneath us. It's roaring. It's rushing water is a brilliant white in our lights. It's beautiful.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This is Tim's first time on the SHT. He has trail experience. He ran the Leadville Marathon this year. He's won the Zumbro 17 miler a couple times. I'm a bit surprised a guy with Tim's speed would be willing to do this with me. Several times in the past weeks I've told him, You know we'll be crawling, right? I've had this fear he'll get frustrated at the slowness of it all. But it's fun to introduce someone to this trail, even at night. Especially at night. "It's a couple false peaks on this climb," I say as we make our way up the gorge. We stop briefly and turn off our headlamps. I reach my hand out to palm the stars, to grab a handful and wipe them across my forehead. They're that close. Then we're climbing again, Tim's light lighting up my world, widening it, his voice carrying me over these ancient volcanic rocks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The second half of this section is runnable, but I have no idea how much of it we actually run. My goal is to move well through the night and we are moving well, keeping our stops brief, charging forward. My walk is a good one and my climbing is still strong.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">When we see the lights of Sugarloaf aid station through the trees, I thank Tim for getting me through one of the tougher sections of the course and tell him he's earned his rest. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"I'll keep going," he says. "I'm sticking with you. Your pacer's no Sally."</span></span><br />
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He's been stern and has convinced me to change shoes. He probably just doesn't want to hear me whine about my toe anymore. I switch from Hoka Speedgoats to my Salomon Speedcrosses. Lisa wipes my feet clean and helps with the switch. She's amazing and her touch is soothing. </span></span><br />
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm nauseous and can't eat. I'm having a hard time drinking the Tailwind in my bladder. I slam fresh water and Coke at the aid stations though. I tell Tim it's just my body's sleep cycle messing with me, that I'll move through it. I pee often through the night so I'm not too worried about it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My memory from Sugarloaf (3:50 am) to sunrise is fuzzy at best and pops up in patches. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Tim's been watching Rocky movies for inspirational quotes, and he keeps yelling out as if he's Apollo Creed, "This ain't so bad, Rock." It's what Apollo says when Rocky's beating the shit out of him.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I often hear Tim whisper, Jesus Christ. He prays in this way often.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We turn the lights off and look at the sky. We see stars in the big lake.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">His voice and light and humor and company carry me through Cramer Road aid station, through the night and into the daylight. We cross a ski or snowmobile trail and notice the colors on the horiz0n. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This ain't so bad, Rock! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">After leaving Cramer, I wish I had taken a cookie or two, but the stomach says no. Still, the idea of the cookies is a great one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGyxsGKzpiPlEV4PfGb5xRlD9mz424ozLY4dv4FsZ72qv7kYtA68FYTry6v-XQq7ZzcqHu7mejGSbaRnDTN9osq3Q2aGK3mSUNmIJHrC4o55cZx_1622W03KN4Os7iIel8W3ncdiN_0I/s640/blogger-image-1469369757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtGyxsGKzpiPlEV4PfGb5xRlD9mz424ozLY4dv4FsZ72qv7kYtA68FYTry6v-XQq7ZzcqHu7mejGSbaRnDTN9osq3Q2aGK3mSUNmIJHrC4o55cZx_1622W03KN4Os7iIel8W3ncdiN_0I/s640/blogger-image-1469369757.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The Cross River whispers and roars at us with the trail's subtle climbs and dips along its banks. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My big toe is on fire. The bone is burning. I try to lean into its flame. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">With the light comes new energy, new laughter, a bit more speed, and Tim's aviator glasses. He can't decide if they would look better with a buff or a beanie. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Tim's brother-in-law Aaron is running the 50, and his sister and her kids are here too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm spotting people at the edge of the trail. Just fleeting glimpses of people who aren't there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm doing math in my head, thinking about the distance from Temperance to the finish, thinking about thirty hours.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">At a road crossing, a volunteer tells us both Jake Hegge and Mike Borst finished under the course record. What freaks! He tells us Jake finished around 3:30 this morning. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhJGN_NMYT8TqIlfdZcZyOP_4EblCVmw8LCe41LhoSt0PZl-MgzDJcleT0eD0Rn2xUHUAzvOrx_iNHZPvxTDhdnIM48nC6gnRthnpAQLCLFnxdJqO2ryEMaPx0v8B0j-HEJidTVkabdA/s640/blogger-image-1650637232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhJGN_NMYT8TqIlfdZcZyOP_4EblCVmw8LCe41LhoSt0PZl-MgzDJcleT0eD0Rn2xUHUAzvOrx_iNHZPvxTDhdnIM48nC6gnRthnpAQLCLFnxdJqO2ryEMaPx0v8B0j-HEJidTVkabdA/s640/blogger-image-1650637232.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Temperance aid station is rocking when we get there. The day is in full swing now. I'm so happy to see Lisa. The pancakes smell amazing and they're a great idea, but I'm still nauseous. Lisa says maybe I should just make myself retch. She's probably right but I don't want to spend the extra time., don't want to start something that might keep rolling. I drink water and Coke instead.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-ord1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/10620823_10208052833297432_9125945341749052566_n.jpg?oh=33fafdaa04d77478ed755592ce181146&oe=5691654A" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 380px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Kelcey Knott</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It's the most beautiful morning ever.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">There's more people at the edges of the trail. Kids. Parents holding cameras. Then the kids return to their true forms, a stump maybe. The parents are fallen trees bunched together. They seemed nice enough while they were there. They were a good idea at the time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRh5400xi7vAxr0V2Dxl4ezvMrQkOPMpTChBCp4chyphenhyphenlCmTMNpPGk8b5AwdtNxu11B4gvOGlIC5tWdZ_ynhyphenhyphenwUaWyFkdtTT4PymfO5EVDTRwwEESbI-yGb3J7Ug5paB66MeBpEMcjK-xk/s1600/P9100083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRh5400xi7vAxr0V2Dxl4ezvMrQkOPMpTChBCp4chyphenhyphenlCmTMNpPGk8b5AwdtNxu11B4gvOGlIC5tWdZ_ynhyphenhyphenwUaWyFkdtTT4PymfO5EVDTRwwEESbI-yGb3J7Ug5paB66MeBpEMcjK-xk/s640/P9100083.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We leave the Temperance aid station at 8:03 am. It's roughly 18 miles to the finish. Simple math says if we can cover that in 6 hours, we can hit that 30 hour goal. It could happen. Anything could happen. It's still about possibilities. My heart says to enjoy it all no matter what. Having not eaten anything most of the night, except broth and watermelon, I expect to crash soon. The crash is likely to happen. The body needs fuel. But it doesn't happen. I eat a gel when I can. I sip at the Tailwind. I'm still burping soup broth and watermelon and drinking lots of water at the aid stations.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We leave the Temperance River and start the longest climb of the race. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"This isn't Carlton Peak, not yet," I tell Tim. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">"Jesus Christ," he says quietly.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">His prayers seem to help.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I tell him about the sundance last month that Pat and I helped prep for. Pat asked one of the dancers to pray for my son, and to pray for me in this race. Thinking of what those dancers go through makes this simple and easy. And it is simple, really. We just put one foot in front of the other. We keep moving. Like the dancers, we might be on some kind of spiritual quest or journey of self discovery, perhaps performing some form of extended prayer, but we are also just running through the woods. That's it. We're dancing around one of my favorite playgrounds. Today we are simply playing, and hopefully the rest can come through that play if it's necessary.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">At the base of the mountain, I put my hands on my knees for a brief moment, then say, "Let's go." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And we go. My heart races in my head. It's lovely. My hands pull me up the rocks.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This ain't so bad, Rock! </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And then the long gradual downhill takes us to the Sawbill aid station. A half marathon left.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESCsHF-ATqsptVjfL-h83losX-loxinCu4VZHFfFOm2WFSzvWFvAPB8K0TPJjdHYsIsyZWd2dxXdDK4YX42ZMHa_XTx1e9LBgftYtC1TaZRAwGNUwHoOAEGMN3PSOnifyh1FpHzzq28E/s1600/P9100082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESCsHF-ATqsptVjfL-h83losX-loxinCu4VZHFfFOm2WFSzvWFvAPB8K0TPJjdHYsIsyZWd2dxXdDK4YX42ZMHa_XTx1e9LBgftYtC1TaZRAwGNUwHoOAEGMN3PSOnifyh1FpHzzq28E/s640/P9100082.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Tim's won Zumbro 17 miler a couple times, but he didn't run it this year due to injury. This year Wynn Davis won it with a course record. So when Wynn comes flying by us in a solid marathon lead, I get scared I might lose my pacer, that Tim's competitive instinct might kick in and he'll follow Wynn without thinking. But he stays with me. Eventually more marathoners come by, but no one's going to catch Wynn. Sometimes I try to adopt their pace for five or ten steps, just to mess with Tim. I'm surprised I'm able to run at all but we are moving well. We have steady momentum and we are having fun. We are having a blast. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We hear a loud Woo! behind us and it's our friend Josh Henning running the marathon. He's doing great. His energy gives me energy. He looks strong.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">At some point I say, "We must be into single digits now."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Thirty hours is still a possibility, but we have Moose and Mystery Mountains ahead.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We keep moving. One step at a time. We are lucky and blessed to be doing this. I do not have a big toe. It does not exist. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Tim whistles. He sings the limbo song. How low can you go?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqPl1lTv6zXHapMQcC28HajlFKrMANDut-8uI7HIHRlXWk8G3qZv02suZgw_XbB0_xKyrazOym31QTFOvGSckU0aRO0bPVx-P1pzR-mM-yTDeW4E0KfU5la3LUmcllhAq1QCyCb2nyAM/s1600/P9100091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqPl1lTv6zXHapMQcC28HajlFKrMANDut-8uI7HIHRlXWk8G3qZv02suZgw_XbB0_xKyrazOym31QTFOvGSckU0aRO0bPVx-P1pzR-mM-yTDeW4E0KfU5la3LUmcllhAq1QCyCb2nyAM/s640/P9100091.JPG" width="640" /></a> </span></span></div>
<br />
At Oberg, the last aid station, Lisa gives me a kiss. "See you at the end," she says. Did she really kiss me? I must stink. We hardly stop. We walk through the parking lot and up the hill while I drink water and Coke, then we're running again. We're running! We're still in the window of possibility for thirty hours. We're still having a blast. Tim hasn't gotten sick of me yet and ditched me or pushed me over a cliff yet. We're doing this. We're going to finish. I am filled with luck and gratitude.<br />
<br />
At the base of Moose Mountain I put my hands on my knees, looking for some kind of reset button, and then start uphill. I want to keep moving to the top. People are stacked up along the climb. Rob Henderson comes by us like a boss. He owns it. At the top, I grab a log for balance, dizzy, my heartbeat filling my throat.<br />
<br />
"Just give me a sec," I say.<br />
<br />
"That was somber," Tim says. "Kinda like a funeral."<br />
<br />
Tim's thinking about thirty hours and he knows when to poke me, when to be subtle, when to throw out gentle reminders. We keep moving along the ridge, along the massive views of the big lake. I'm spent from the climb, still trying to recover. I'm stumbling forward. Running the downs. Running what I can.<br />
<br />
We create a steady momentum on Moose Mountain, grateful for switchbacks.<br />
<br />
"When we see the group campsite, it will be in hand," I say. "It's all downhill from there."<br />
<br />
This ain't so bad, Rock! he says.<br />
<br />
But as always, the group campsite eludes us. Maybe it's around the next curve. Or the next. Just over this hill maybe.<br />
<br />
"I know they put it somewhere," I say.<br />
<br />
"There's a car over there," Tim says. "Is that the campsite? See? The hood's up."<br />
<br />
There is no car. Tim hasn't slept all night. The light plays tricks with us. He's a great companion out here. The best. But somehow he's right. We're at the group campsite. We're running down the mountain.<br />
<br />
"Do you hear that river?" I say. "It's the best sound ever."<br />
<br />
We cross the Poplar River bridge.<br />
<br />
I don't want this to end. It's been so damn fun.<br />
<br />
We're on pavement.<br />
<br />
"This is getting long," I say.<br />
<br />
I tell Tim to stick with me through the finish but he disappears. And then I'm hugging John, and Lisa, and my mom and my dad.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijou4O0ksRd_PQpIOxfDAxmtxpsV8PVHdFnpM8zco7eNugEjatTksvpv58K1kRmJYuJww9pEltkIl2smJ_IndNc-QvLIlnNSl4BcVJl5TdLikslbdSs6N68qNlgWInaVF-8IJ7Wj_8uoU/s1600/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijou4O0ksRd_PQpIOxfDAxmtxpsV8PVHdFnpM8zco7eNugEjatTksvpv58K1kRmJYuJww9pEltkIl2smJ_IndNc-QvLIlnNSl4BcVJl5TdLikslbdSs6N68qNlgWInaVF-8IJ7Wj_8uoU/s640/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hugging my honey.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Is there anyone else I can hug? There has to be someone. I wish my dogs were here.<br />
<br />
We finished under 30 hours. That's a big "we." It includes Lisa and my parents and Tim and TJ and all the other runners we started with at Gooseberry yesterday morning. It includes John and Cheri and their army of volunteers, the aid station cheerleaders and chefs and medics and the course markers and sweepers and the radio operators and the people I never even saw but who helped make this happen. It's the marathoners who came by and said, "Good job, Hundred." It's Shelly, who ran hill repeats with me every week. It's Tucker and Winston and Pearl and all the other awesome aid station dogs. It's a wide net. It's not just me out there. One would think that doing something like this puffs the ego out, but it has the opposite effect on me. It humbles me. It makes me feel like a small piece of something much bigger. It connects me to others.<br />
<br />
I'm in a chair by the finish line. I get my shoes off. Maybe someone helps me with them. Lisa's gone after something, maybe a soda. My mom is asking what she can do to help me. I want to ask her for a serrated filet knife to cut my big toe off, but I would need something to grind down the bone too, anything to make it stop hurting. The hurt is deep in the bone, very concentrated. I don't think that's what she has in mind. Chalayne Palmgren is in front of me with her medical bag. My face must have told her something. She says it's a burn and she wraps my toes. She gives me a baggy of ice. She floats off with her angel wings.<br />
<br />
Joon Bermudez sits beside me. He's happy to be finished. He has tears on his face. He says this was much harder than Wasatch.<br />
<br />
I eat some chili. I sit on a blanket. I visit with friends. I fall asleep with Lisa's sweater over my head. I wake up and look at Josh Henning and say, "Lisa, did you get me some ice cream?"<br />
<br />
Josh is not Lisa.<br />
<br />
"Don't worry," he tells his kids. "He's okay."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrs1XiIkWsstObNXQ2bpKFSJU_8gFHW3QCcWbwsgIfi1GrZduPzaC50jTh_gkdSk2hF0B3ugX1OqPmOuMu61nA0cbM8WPWrwUHLYwOzuTWs6n2telR4KiClFBcHoG04xq5PlsEuhjvfuQ/s1600/IMG_2981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrs1XiIkWsstObNXQ2bpKFSJU_8gFHW3QCcWbwsgIfi1GrZduPzaC50jTh_gkdSk2hF0B3ugX1OqPmOuMu61nA0cbM8WPWrwUHLYwOzuTWs6n2telR4KiClFBcHoG04xq5PlsEuhjvfuQ/s640/IMG_2981.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nappies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I wake up and check the phone. The online tracking system is great this year. "Jason will be in soon," I tell Lisa. "We have to look for Jason."<br />
<br />
TJ calls and I tell him, "Yay! way to tear that shit up man." He finished in 25:55 and is calling from their rental cabin where he just showered.<br />
<br />
From a seat on the back side of the hotel Lisa and I watch Tim's brother-in-law, Aaron, finish.<br />
<br />
"Do you mind if I vomit?" I ask Lisa. I turn away from her and retch.<br />
<br />
Jason comes in with Amy pacing like the boss runners that they are. Lisa stands to watch him cross the line. "He's walking," she says. "He's walking before he hits the finish. What the heck?"<br />
<br />
He later tells us he finished in 33:33:33. When he saw the opportunity to line those numbers up, he had to do it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-vRWVvPHMqAbJw1PhOGS1X1N5rawive1DzZfZUV2ZRLQlvGThfSu0SKcOamUFrTB5dPx2SKfIvtvlQNyjEa4JAxXCucdy9c1E6z-wPqT1uVQS2ivwHMNWAW45E75KokQJuvx5u4xos8/s1600/IMG_2980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-vRWVvPHMqAbJw1PhOGS1X1N5rawive1DzZfZUV2ZRLQlvGThfSu0SKcOamUFrTB5dPx2SKfIvtvlQNyjEa4JAxXCucdy9c1E6z-wPqT1uVQS2ivwHMNWAW45E75KokQJuvx5u4xos8/s640/IMG_2980.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boss runners</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I watch other friends finish. I sit. I stand. I stretch. I cramp. I eat. I congratulate. I hug. I thank. I laugh.<br />
<br />
Eventually I head upstairs to our room to shower. First, I just stand there, alone in our room. The window is open and faces the finish line area and I can hear each incoming runner announced and the crowd raise its collective voice in welcome.<br />
<br />
I get the hiccups. I vomit. I shower. Pieces of trail spin around the drain, dirt and leaves and sticks and grit.<br />
<br />
After the shower, I lay back on the bed. I don't know how long I'm there. It feels like my body is still hurling itself forward, like some piece of my brain that determines motion has worn through its gears and can't recognize that I've stopped moving. I hear friends' names announced and smiles wash through my body. Jason Mullenbach. JD Coolidge. The list grows.<br />
<br />
Lisa brings pizza in. "The restaurant downstairs is pure chaos," she says.<br />
<br />
The awards ceremony starts. I'd like to go down there, but I'm not moving yet.<br />
<br />
"Shelly just finished," Lisa says. "Wait, they're announcing her name for an award!"<br />
<br />
Shelly Groenke is our friend and is sharing our room. In two minutes she is upstairs showing us her trophy for the 50 mile, first female grand master. John Storkamp has told me, "Every time I see her I'm putting hardware in her hands."<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzE87qvKXjJl5kL9id_60zQyUhhqqvbgXb7wp8ARpwfYsW6-LbOIV0wOvSV4edq1_M68lDwIUvqtxVVQkbjHWrO23iOTPUlzMtBDih4rGQG43vupu8BB_nXOxT8VGVIJjzpAc_YmWVIQY/s1600/IMG_2970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzE87qvKXjJl5kL9id_60zQyUhhqqvbgXb7wp8ARpwfYsW6-LbOIV0wOvSV4edq1_M68lDwIUvqtxVVQkbjHWrO23iOTPUlzMtBDih4rGQG43vupu8BB_nXOxT8VGVIJjzpAc_YmWVIQY/s320/IMG_2970.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
We all have some pizza and visit. Mine comes back up a few minutes later. We're exhausted and turn the lights out. The window is open and we hear the cheers of friends coming in. I wish I were down there but I don't feel I can move. My body is floating on the bed. Just before ten o'clock, as the cutoff time approaches, the crowd gets louder and louder. We hear Harry Sloan's name announced. The first Superior director, the guy who started the race when there were only a handful of hundreds in the country, the guy with a dozen Western States buckles, the guy who inspired so many other runners, is crossing the line out there in exactly 38 hours, finishing his first Superior 100, a race that would not exist today without him. There is so much cheering, so much electricity, the window pane is vibrating. I swear my bed moves across the floor. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaZqZSPN2xWbyZK2EfEGKOfR2oY5nu0JjEDcRm7ly3rKYLk6H_5QLjm9UI_2AVRgc9Jw5RX8mAvmQZO168eopZymmt7jDC9lszcSkR7man5RxuiyOEco2c_I2xCRAPQemewJEAhfPWQ8/s640/blogger-image--347439696.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaZqZSPN2xWbyZK2EfEGKOfR2oY5nu0JjEDcRm7ly3rKYLk6H_5QLjm9UI_2AVRgc9Jw5RX8mAvmQZO168eopZymmt7jDC9lszcSkR7man5RxuiyOEco2c_I2xCRAPQemewJEAhfPWQ8/s640/blogger-image--347439696.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a></div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-87095185810819309012015-09-04T18:56:00.001-07:002015-09-04T19:22:11.690-07:00Broken Leg<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeafj2bdEooUL1uykJZt52YDMfZ40qkbP_IR_O3A1WbRH7VVzQ2lzWZ_sqLgleROQh0L3O8ld0edJLP2tWOeuo5jcxGiGSWrj4L83IJoCEHGcDc5GVt5hILHWRKw2tzTKtVUawnc_XRoY/s1600/IMG_0747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeafj2bdEooUL1uykJZt52YDMfZ40qkbP_IR_O3A1WbRH7VVzQ2lzWZ_sqLgleROQh0L3O8ld0edJLP2tWOeuo5jcxGiGSWrj4L83IJoCEHGcDc5GVt5hILHWRKw2tzTKtVUawnc_XRoY/s320/IMG_0747.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the original race booklet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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Tom Kurtovich has been working with
the Superior 100 since its first year. In that first race, on the original
course that ran from Silver Bay to the Cook County High School in Grand Marais,
he was working an aid station at County Road 6 when a man came up to him and
said, “I heard my runner has a broken leg. Don’t worry though. I’ve got another
one. “ The man explained that his runner was a Vietnam veteran with a
prosthetic leg. This man talking to Tom didn’t look like a runner—he was out of
shape, but he started hiking, carrying the new and unbroken leg in his hands. As
he entered the woods he switched to carry the leg over his shoulder, with the
foot right behind his head. He would soon encounter the steep and rocky climb
to the top of Sawmill Dome, followed by more rugged trail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not
knowing any other details, Tom tried to decide if he should send in more help,
and if so, which entry points the help should follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could send someone in here, but what if
the runner had just started the section and was only a short distance from
Highway 1 instead? This is rough terrain and a drive to Highway 1 would get the
help there much faster. If the runner needed to be carried out for some reason,
or required some kind of emergency help, they needed to know the best and
shortest way to carry him. Tom asked incoming runners if they had seen a guy
with a broken leg. He didn’t know how else to word the question. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
No one had seen
him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Not even the last
runner. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Finally, Tom
talked to a pair of backpackers who had seen the runner. Around the same time,
he spotted the crew person coming out of the woods and heading for his truck,
sweating and puffing and walking slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was still carrying the intact leg.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well?”
Tom said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
got all the way in there and he said this one’s the wrong foot.” The guy talked slowly,
catching his breath. “Apparently this is his swimming foot. I need to get the
leg with the running foot.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By
now other volunteers had gathered and stood in a circle with Tom and the other
man still huffing and sweating. Dave Leslie was there too. They were all in
awe of this runner out there on the trail, attempting to run 100 miles with
only one of his legs the one he had been born with.
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They wanted to do something,
anything they could to get him moving.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’s
finished 50s,” the crew person said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Harry
Sloan had heard about the situation through the radio. He pulled up in his truck
with a young kid—maybe high school or early college—in the passenger seat.
Harry rolled his window down and Tom explained the situation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Scott
here’s a fast skier,” Harry said nodding to the kid beside him. This was before
Scott Jurek was known as a runner. “We’ll send the leg with him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
crew person dug the running leg out of his truck. They put the leg in a
backpack, with the foot sticking out the open top. The running foot, this time.
Scott Jurek took off using his ski poles as trekking poles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ll
come too,” Dave Leslie said. Everyone wanted to do something to help this guy
achieve his finish.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Before Scott and
Dave disappeared into the woods, Tom called them back. “The shoe,” he said.
“He’ll need that.” Tom pulled the leg out of the backpack and switched the
running shoe from the swimming leg to the running leg. He sent Scott Jurek and
Dave Leslie back into the woods, up Sawmill Dome, in search of the runner with
the broken leg.</div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-88503510957611392292015-09-04T18:19:00.000-07:002015-11-20T09:25:53.118-08:00What's your key to success at Superior 100?<style>
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From the forthcoming book, Superior. With gratitude to finishers of the Superior 100 below.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVX43YNmhsz77mp5MavoK2rt6cYclSgZovKLpxfLT9gVnXaybpICvNakouDnRyZxc7Sg6x9UOKxEjVyKqLCIU5qXUa4nXO6T1pwwf4lC-Uh7et7UrhRNRkNLcQvvbBXA3zFrflRRrwok0/s1600/IMGP1822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVX43YNmhsz77mp5MavoK2rt6cYclSgZovKLpxfLT9gVnXaybpICvNakouDnRyZxc7Sg6x9UOKxEjVyKqLCIU5qXUa4nXO6T1pwwf4lC-Uh7et7UrhRNRkNLcQvvbBXA3zFrflRRrwok0/s320/IMGP1822.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">April Anselmo</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: Positive attitude, and the
drive to want it, along with putting in the time on feet to train in all sorts
of conditions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Maria Barton</b>: Be
at one with yourself. Be okay to be with yourself and the trail and the woods
and the moon and the stars. Be okay being in the wilderness by yourself. And
get up there as much as you can in all weather. Learn the nuances, landmarks,
and features of the trail. Be a student of the SHT. Respect your body (I’m working
on that) and the SHT.</div>
<div style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Frayah
Bartuska</span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">:</span> <span style="color: #141823; font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I became obsessed with Superior after I completed
Kettle. I read every race report, spent every single day on trails, and went up
there to train as well. It was the first race that I was unsure about being
able to cross the finish line. I was worried I was being too confident in my
ability, and I was being too impatient with my race season. Even if I was still
unsure of my abilities, I used my training as a sense of therapy as my
grandfather was dying. My grandfather was a forester and he raised me, so my
training allowed me to feel close to him again. Even though he didn’t remember
me or his family toward the end, he always remembered the trails/forests until
the day he died. It was engraved into him, and I felt that was my only way to
talk to him. To be honest, losing him was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. The
only thing that made it better was being on the trails. So, not to discredit my
hard work, because I worked really damn hard for this race. Rain or shine, day
and night, hot or cold, I was out there. Doing hill work every day, doing 400+
mile months, traveling to different trails so I could train on different
terrains. I never worked so hard for a race. However, I was also really sad and
angry. That was the fire under my ass. I had so many emotions when I crossed
the finish line. I made peace with the world that day. It makes me emotional
talking about it, but I had this sense of understanding of the things going on
in my life and I wasn’t so pissed off anymore. You think a lot on these 100
milers and when you have a lot to think about they tend to go by a little
faster.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Julie Berg</b>: <span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">To believe in
myself. To know deep down that I can finish. To trust myself. To stick to gels
and water, S-Caps, good lights and back up batteries. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mike Borst</b>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Getting past the mentality that I need to go
fast and win. I went into the race telling myself that finishing was the
ultimate goal, and during some of the mental low points for me during the run I
would just keep telling myself: you came here to finish, no stopping now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Don Clark:</b> From
my sweeping experience, I don’t even like that word, “success.” If I can be
there and talk someone into getting off their ass and motoring, I’m so happy.
I’m proud of everything I’ve done for my friends and with my friends. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
From running it, it’s that streetcar named Desire. It all
has to do with self-gratification and desire. It’s the only time you’d see me
patting myself on the back. This one is special.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">JD Coolidge</b>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My key to success at Superior is to maintain
common sense. I am pretty confident that I will not win any ultramarathons so
my goal was to maintain an even, constant, deliberate pace. Throughout the race
I kept telling myself that as long as I put one foot in front of the other I am
gaining ground and bringing myself closer to the prize.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Susan Donnelly</b>:
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It helps that I love the 100 mile
distance, the place, the people I’ve come to know, and the whole atmosphere of
this race. I am grateful to the race directors that have kept the race
true to its original spirit. Every year, I look forward to race weekend
and want to see every inch of the trail. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I’ve also learned
a lot since my first Superior run. At this point I’ve finished 70 hundred milers,
200 ultras overall, so I've become more familiar with the 100 mile distance,
this course, ultras in general, and the mind and soul side of the sport. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">All of that
helps, but this race wouldn’t be as alluring if it wasn’t such a true challenge
with the real potential for failure each time. I love that it’s such a
deceptively tough race. It wouldn’t be remotely as fun if it were a sure
thing. There’s nothing like facing the unknown, with everything you’ve
got—brains, physical strength, and spirit—and Superior requires it all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John Focke</b>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My key to success was my crew and never
looking beyond the next aid station. My crew was amazing, from the aid station
pit stops to my pacers, they kept me moving, taken care of and they gave me a
great attitude. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Kl6jJ89_5p3p6greyAXFxh2CSBtIBsFOUVJvKwTjSfeMLMv8whidnGc-xHxz6yYJ8SNqD9YUB4-o-3mjiMymi_QSP8OlTvk9PjtxJIXJPqfNYh-bN4QtkJUmyeX_E95ItMP9BtqLuBM/s1600/IMG_1280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Kl6jJ89_5p3p6greyAXFxh2CSBtIBsFOUVJvKwTjSfeMLMv8whidnGc-xHxz6yYJ8SNqD9YUB4-o-3mjiMymi_QSP8OlTvk9PjtxJIXJPqfNYh-bN4QtkJUmyeX_E95ItMP9BtqLuBM/s320/IMG_1280.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stephanie
Hoff</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: </span><span style="color: #2a2f3c; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">My main key to success at Superior was my mindset. I
told myself for weeks leading up to the race that there is no such thing as
quitting or DNFing. Once you start this thing, you finish it. My friend, Kate,
and I started the race together. We told each other that we would stay together
as long as possible, but we both realized at some point we would no longer be
together. We separated a few miles before County Road 6. Kate was in a low
point and I was in a high point, so I went for it and picked up the pace. I
didn't see her much after that. At the last aid station, they told me that she
dropped at mile 85 and the tears rolled down my face. I was so sad for her;
this had been her goal for so long.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #2a2f3c; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">My
other key to success was the belt buckle. Around mile 75, I was hitting a low.
Not finishing crossed my mind several times. But I told myself that I'm not
allowed to quit. I told myself the pain I am in right now is temporary. The
pain of quitting will last forever. I kept picturing myself wearing that black finisher’s
sweatshirt, with jeans and my big belt buckle around my waist. Then I would
tell myself to get my shit together and finish this effing thing. And then I
would rebound from my low, and be cruising on my way again.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #2a2f3c; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Another
key to my success was my awesome crew and pacers. My mom was the best crewmember
I could ask for. She knows me so well, and she knew what I wanted at every
point in the race. She stayed up for the entire race and met me at every aid
station. My pacers were amazing too. They kept me hydrated, fueled and had
great conversation. My first pacer even made a "to talk about" list
and wrote it on her arm so that she had subjects ready to go. I couldn't have
asked for a better group of people to support me at Superior. I even had a
friend from my running club who was up in Duluth for the day drive all the way
up to the last few aid stations to see me at a couple of them. My support team
was amazing!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="5yl5"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">John
Horns</span></b></span><span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: Keys to success: a)
physical—there is no magic to the training but you have to do it; b)
mental—there is a whole lot of thinking time out there on trail and you need to
embrace this; c) nutrition and hydration—a key piece of the puzzle that is
often overlooked.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">David Infante</b>: <span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Camaraderie, friendships
and incredible luck. Friendships and friends who don't let friends give up. I
ran with people who understood the challenges and didn't let me succumb to the
lows that occur over the long hours. Everything from a text saying, "Get
up and move forward" as I lay on a rock after emptying my stomach to a
refusal by a runner who’d adopted me to let me quit at mile 50 as I shivered
uncontrollably at an aid station. He said, "In 15 minutes, you'll be
bitching about how hot it is!" He was right.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">I envisioned being reunited with my running partner at the finish,
getting the sweet hoodie and buckle and the incredible happiness that would be
the reward for the effort. I imagined my pacer who was driving several hours to
meet me at Temperance and who I was not going to let down. I really got lucky.
Attaching myself to a runner with crew (and experience) was a godsend. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">TJ Jeannette</b>:
Preparation. It seems so obvious but it’s true for everything in life. The
better prepared you are the more unlikely it is you’ll mentally break down. You
know you’ve got the time in. You’re prepared. You’ll finish. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Stuart Johnson</b>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Being a back of the packer, I have to be
very stubborn. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nick Koenig</span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">: </span><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Success was a mix of training and luck. I always say luck is for
the ill prepared. But to use the term loosely, luck may exist. If I twist an
ankle out on the trail, is it bad luck? No, it’s improper attention to where I’m
placing my feet. If I get dehydrated it’s because I didn’t bring enough water
with me or chose to forget to drink. I’ve had success and failure on the SHT. I
prefer success. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Soy sauce is another key for me. I do a shot
if I feel like hell. Seems to always balance me out immediately. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Scott Kummer</b>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The key to success at Superior is
PERSEVERENCE. The time cutoff is generous enough that you can finish if you
just don’t give up. I literally heaved my body down that trail for two
days. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Kevin Langton</b>:
Show up prepared, mentally, physically, and spiritually. I need to be centered
for this one, for any hundred. Positivity and gratitude can carry any runner a
long way too, and those are things that we can practice, things we can
cultivate. It doesn’t hurt to do some long runs on the SHT either.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Also, if you have Lisa Langton for a crew person your odds
increase greatly. But you can’t have her. She’s mine. I’m lucky that way.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Matt Long:</b> Never
give up.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Matt Lutz</b>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Pay your dues, put in the time and the miles,
and hit your calories and fluids. You can do anything if you get enough
calories and fluids in you. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Roberto Marron</b>: <span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be prepared for anything. Have fun and when the pain comes,
embrace and deal with it. Know your strengths and weaknesses.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #2a2f3c; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Steve Moore</span></b><span style="color: #2a2f3c; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Hard training in the Texas heat
all summer made the mild weather at Superior feel outstanding. I was able to
eat plenty of calories and keep a decent pace going without getting too hot or
having the GI revolt. My folks crewed for me and were more excited than I was.
I fed off their energy when I saw them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Christi Nowak</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: Going in with the
mindset that I was going to finish was helpful, as was my familiarity with the
course. However I think the biggest help was my pacers. The first friend who
paced me twisted his ankle on the first section he ran with me, so the second
one started running with me at Crosby Manitou and did the last 40 miles with
me, rather than the 25 she had planned on. Those 40 miles included a lot of low
points, particularly going through the gorges in Crosby Manitou, but she helped
me through them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Larry Pederson</b>:
Telling yourself you’re going to do it no matter what. Total persistence. I’ve
had races where my head wasn’t in it and I dropped. You have to be in the right
place mentally. As a director, the key is having a lot of really good
volunteers. And I did.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Scott Rassbach</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: More than anything else, the key to
finishing Superior was previous failure. In 2009 I entered the Ozark 100 as my
first 100 mile race. It was an unseasonably hot day for Missouri in November,
84 degrees. I neglected to adjust my time goals for the heat. I neglected my
eating and hydration. I lost the will to take care of myself. I didn’t run a
step after mile 42 and dropped at mile 68, completely demoralized. When
Superior 2011 turned out to be similarly hot, I knew to adjust my expectations.
Before the first aid station I threw time goals out the window and concentrated
on just finishing. The dehydration, fatigue and pain were normalized and I was
able to deal with these sensations because of previous failure and determination
not to repeat the result. Sleepiness, hallucinations, and a course where every
step is contested meant the result was in doubt even as I started the second
night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The other reason
for success was my crew. My wife, Rita, met me at every possible aid station.
She made sure I had what I needed for the next section and gave me the moral
support I craved. The desire to see her at the next aid station kept me going
through several difficult sections. My pacer, Shelly Groenke, ran/hiked the
last 60 miles of the race with me at a pace that must have been pretty
frustrating. We don’t talk much, but she gave me a kick in the tail when I
needed it and kept me on course. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><b>Mallory Richard</b>: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I'm decently proud of
my pacing at Superior. Both times so far I've started my race slow enough that
I have energy left to keep running in the second half. I've also had great
pacers and crew. My buddy, Joel, paced me for a few legs both times I've raced
Superior and I've been lucky to have family and friends as my crew. Oh, and my archrival,
Steven Graupner, runs Superior so that helps drive me to be competitive. He
beat me by two minutes in 2014.</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMGvARsYrfsSfw8Uu8n_8u21fczVS-kNYouaFr9P6G0MIIdH7II-YEfWLcaG5AGtqoTmDcm8vnrLC4wexxeRyUeT1A_LbvIRZ8FFgpNSdD9Z-U2BzRFwXpyn5En1rpFP3TZTDePo7vaw/s1600/IMGP1338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMGvARsYrfsSfw8Uu8n_8u21fczVS-kNYouaFr9P6G0MIIdH7II-YEfWLcaG5AGtqoTmDcm8vnrLC4wexxeRyUeT1A_LbvIRZ8FFgpNSdD9Z-U2BzRFwXpyn5En1rpFP3TZTDePo7vaw/s320/IMGP1338.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husveth and Button</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span class="5yl5"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jeffrey
Rock</span></b></span><span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: My DNF at Arrowhead
in 2014. Had I not learned from that race I may have DNF'd at Silver Bay after
becoming severely dehydrated. Instead, with the help of the aid workers, I was
able to take the time to rehydrate and my race only got better as it went on.
In a race that long things are going to go wrong. The easy way out is to quit.
Once you quit you can't get it back! You are going to have an entire year to
troubleshoot what you should have done instead of quitting.</span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Todd Rowe</b>: <span style="color: #2a2f3c; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I wanted it badly enough
to focus solely on getting to the finish line in one piece by the cutoff. And I
was determined to have fun. I had a few dark moments early on, before Beaver
Bay even, when I wondered what the heck I was doing. Beaver Bay to Silver Bay
was scary, because I was feeling a little bit over my head. Up until then I had
run with friends (Amy Husveth and Joel Button) and enjoyed lots of chatting but
several hours of solo time had me wondering. I was passed by Roy Heger before
Mount Trudee. I had ridden to the race with Roy—he is a long time training
partner. Roy likes to start slow and then he just reels in runners and gets it
done. He had finished Hardrock that summer and was as humble and inspirational
a runner as you are likely to find. Not long after he passed me I caught back
up to him and he was limping badly. He had taken his eye off the trail for a
second and fell and twisted his knee. He announced in no uncertain terms that
he was fine but his race was over. All I could think of was how that course had
claimed another victim (I kept repeating over and over that, Superior eats its
young, along with, This course truly is Rugged, Relentless, and Remote). I was
determined to run mindfully and carefully, especially during the night hours. I
didn't care when I finished. I just wanted to finish. I proceeded to be careful
and have a ball from that point on. Every aid station was a joy to behold. I
didn't have to act as if I was happy and joyous to be out there—from that point
on—I truly was. I had a few dark spots like when it poured on me 30 minutes
after ditching my jacket (before Temperance) or when my last pacer—Matt Patten,
rang his cowbell for the 400<sup>th</sup> time and I couldn't take it anymore.
But they were always very short-lived transient moments. There is something
magical about that trail. Running 103 miles on it makes it even more
amazing. </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Jordan
Schmidt: </span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Reflecting. I need to reflect. Every DNF, every
finish, every time I interact with somebody, it’s all about learning. Attitude
is definitely one of them. Keeping perspective on aid station to aid station is
true. But it’s also about why I’m there.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Adam Scwartz-Lowe: </b>
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--></style><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Partly, I'm
just lucky to be good at technical ground and have a solid stomach. I've never
really had an issue with either of those. Now for what I can control, I train
consistently and run most of the year. I don't have weeks where I run 1 day,
then 7 the next. I run 6 days a week and keep to a sustainable mileage. I've
also done a bunch of 100's and I know exactly what I'm getting into, especially
at Superior, which I've run 4 times. That course familiarity goes a long ways,
and is one of the best things going for you when running a good race. I don't
train on the course itself, but I regularly run on trails with similar footing,
so I get better at moving over rough ground quickly.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Helen Scotch</span></b><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Training on the course. It's a trail like no
other I've run, with endless ups and downs, and rocks and roots that take
on a life of their own. Knowing the trail is a definite advantage in this
race and training on the course allows you to dial in gear choices and mentally
prepares you for the rough spots. Ultimately the race will throw new
challenges at you despite the most dedicated training plan, but having course
experience gives you the extra confidence you'll need.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Shawn Severson</b>:
Definitely wanting it. I need to get into the present moment. Sticking with it
through the dark spots. I always hit some emotional lows where I’m bawling,
crying, and I reach out to others. I rely on other people I bump into helping
me get out of those slumps.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">John Storkamp</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: Culture. It is all about the culture,
which is a direct result of the people. Superior 100 has a rich history and a lot
of great people behind it. Many of the people that were involved in making the
race happen in the beginning are still among us today in one way, shape or
form, and we rarely "lose" people. We have one of the strongest
volunteer groups of any race anywhere in the world and runners (and volunteers
alike) new to our event come into a strong established culture. This makes for
a consistently good event with an even greater vibe.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Marcus Taintor</b>: <span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As far as key to success at Sawtooth (for some reason I have
a hard time calling it Superior, as people in Duluth think I'm talking about
the town across the pond), always stay positive. I've learned to laugh at
myself a lot. It's all pretty silly and we do this stuff for fun. Sometimes it
helps to just stop for a moment and enjoy the scenery, or even taking a few
minutes to cool off in a river can make all the difference. I also think it's
important to just take it easy for at least the first 50 miles. I feel like
I've kind of got this race figured out now, but twice I've gotten horrible shin
pain at about mile 75, and last year [2013] was just ridiculously hot. It's so
weird because last year I actually was able to run almost the whole course, but
I was spending hours at the aid stations trying to cool off, keep food down,
and such. I'm going to keep doing it as long as I can though. I enjoy the
challenge, and I never really get tired of being on the SHT.</span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUSbf6umPaFejlsMcsT3zPY8Ef9Tl3_RRqHdYe64INsclanzX0Ay-ihda3wOdlWKThbKtV-VouJZHCq62grDUvLt_1Jlxo8Aj1uCrq4b1e6MFtEcEHxUJQtAbEHguoUPJpUKus6yCYJM/s1600/IMGP1894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUSbf6umPaFejlsMcsT3zPY8Ef9Tl3_RRqHdYe64INsclanzX0Ay-ihda3wOdlWKThbKtV-VouJZHCq62grDUvLt_1Jlxo8Aj1uCrq4b1e6MFtEcEHxUJQtAbEHguoUPJpUKus6yCYJM/s320/IMGP1894.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marcus Taintor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ed Thomas</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Don't
quit. Whatever happens at Superior or anywhere else, just don't quit! There will
be pain and lots of it—don’t quit! The weather could be too cold or too
warm—don’t quit! You may get tired and exhausted—don’t quit! The demons may
ride upon your back telling you to cease this crazy thing you're doing—don’t
quit! It's all about preparing your mind to accept what's happening or what's
going to happen. Yes, you need to be in physical shape but even if you're in
better physical condition than anyone else in the field, if your mind is not
there with you, you will not...I repeat...will not, finish...DON'T QUIT. Pain
is temporary: a DNF is forever.</span></div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-35159389243252756882015-08-27T19:23:00.002-07:002017-08-24T08:00:57.891-07:00Why Run Superior?<style>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">The following responses are from finishers of the </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Superior 100. I am grateful for their generosity. This is a part of my book about the race. It can be found <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Superior-Endurance-Americas-Gnarliest-Ultramarathons/dp/153022862X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1503586763&sr=8-1&keywords=Kevin+Langton+Superior" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">April Anselmo</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: My first 100 miler, Kettle Moraine,
went so badly. I was ill prepared. But I finished. I knew I could do better at
a 100 miler. I wanted to do better. I had heard from other runners the
difficult nature of Superior, and the beauty. I was intrigued. Plus I had
run Afton Trail Run, and knew the kind of race John Storkamp puts on. I wanted
to do more of his races. </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Maria Barton</span></b><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">: </span>Why not? I
wouldn’t even think about doing a hundred elsewhere until I got my finish at
Superior. The SHT is my spiritual home. It’s beautiful, mystical, boreal forest
views. The scenery, and of course, the people. If work told me I’d have to work
that weekend… (looks down, shakes her head). It would be like them telling me I
had to work when my kids are getting married. But my kids know better than to
get married the second weekend of September.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Frayah
Bartuska</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: </span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My first two trail
races have an unbelievable amount of elevation involved. When I did my first
100 (Kettle), I had the best experience. However, I missed the climbs, and I
missed new scenery. I was so proud that I was able to complete a 100 miler, but
I crave seeing a hill/mountain in the distance and knowing that I’m about to
climb it. I was researching this race more than Kettle, and I was just
fascinated by the scenery and the climbs that were involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told myself that if I finished Kettle, I
would add another 100 and it would be Superior. I crossed the finish line at
Kettle knowing that I could tackle Superior the same year. It would be a lot
for a rookie, and I would have to step up my training tremendously, but I was
so ready to tackle that race.</span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Julie Berg</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: Because it is
something I never believed I could do. Bonnie Riley was running her 100 there
and I was running the 50 mile. When I saw how badly she looked I told myself
I'd never do it. Ever. I then told myself after ten 100 mile finishes on other
courses that I'd give it a try. Well, after ten 100 mile finishes I stayed true
to my word and to myself. I gave it a whirl. It was beautiful, demanding, all
encompassing. I only made it 77 miles. I knew that I'd be back.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Superior has a way of getting into my soul. I finished the 100
the following two years and again this year. My best friends run this race,
volunteer this race, and direct this race. There is nothing like being among
the people you care about the most while racing. It's the most difficult of my
fifteen 100 mile finishes. It takes me the longest to finish. It beats me up
the most. It's the most rewarding. The views are amazing. I've run the course a
few times over a few days on my own—it’s beautiful, but not the same as the
race. If I could only run one more 100 mile race in my life, it would be
Superior.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mike Borst</b>: <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Superior has been deemed one of the toughest
races out there and that means it is a beautiful and fun course to be on. If
you have to run 100 miles why not do it on some of the most scenic trails
around? Also John Storkamp is one of the greatest race directors ever.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Don
Clark:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> It was my first 50,
my first 100. It’s probably the toughest I could find. And there weren’t many
100s then. It was so personal to me, to do that one. And there’s that
camaraderie that we share. What a glorious day.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">JD
Coolidge</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: Superior was
purely opportunistic. Though I had visions of doing Superior at some point down
the road, it was only after a failed attempt at the Leadville 100 that this
vision became reality. I registered for Superior approximately 14 hours after I
threw in the towel at mile 54 of the Leadville course. I was not totally
disappointed with my efforts there, but I felt a need to redeem myself. My wife
gave me the push I was looking for when I mentioned Superior the next morning.
She said, "You should do it."</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Susan Donnelly</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: Right time and right place. In my
second year of ultrarunning, I found myself with a couple of early 40 and 50 mile
races under my belt and saw a thin window of opportunity to jump up to the 100
mile distance. It wasn’t perfect training (I wasn’t even sure what that
was), but based on what I’d done for the shorter races, I thought it might
work. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I had to decide
whether to go for it, or wait until everything was more sure. I looked at
the calendar in Ultrarunning magazine and found Superior Trail 100. I had
run Grandma’s Marathon in Duluth several years in a row and had fallen in love
with that part of Minnesota. A 100 miler there—on a trail—seemed too
perfect to be true, so I took it as a sign that it was time to leap.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It also helped
that this was 1997, before widespread use of the internet, and the Superior Hiking
Trail was far enough outside my normal travel radius that my training partners
in Tennessee wouldn't know if I didn't finish. That freed me from feeling
extra pressure of external expectations. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I sent my check,
booked a flight, and trained as best I could guess how.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">John Focke</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: I love northern MN, and the Superior Hiking Trail is one of my
favorites. I've strung sections together hiking and the thought of spending a
couple of days running for 100+ miles on it, while enjoying views of Lake
Superior and seeing places I drove past but hadn't explored, was really
enticing. Plus, it's known as one of the hardest 100's around that's not at
altitude. If you're going to test yourself, really test yourself.</span><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Stephanie Hoff</b>:
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Kate Leis [running friend] actually
picked Superior. I'm more of a go-with-the-flow kind of racer. She
picked it because it was supposed to be one of the toughest 100 mile races in
the country. I said, Sounds good! I really wasn't sure what I was
getting myself into. I just knew I loved hiking the North Shore, loved the
trail running community, and I'm always up for a challenge.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">After running
Superior, I would tell everyone this is the toughest, most scenic 100 mile race
they will ever encounter. And the people, volunteers and community are
amazing. Superior should be on every ultrarunner's bucket list.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="5yl5"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">John
Horns</span></b></span><span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: Being a Minnesota
kid I have to run it. It’s close by. My grandmother and grandfather had a place
on Seagull Lake on the Gunflint Trail. My folks had a place on the North Shore.
I can remember my mom (Mae Horns) doing hill repeats on Bridge Run at Lutsen,
where the race finishes today. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">David Infante</span></b><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: It was never on
my radar. I thought Minnesota was flat. My friend Shawn Severson suggested it
and I had a conference in town the following week so I volunteered to crew her.
She said I should run it instead and we could pace each other. I needed to put
something on my calendar to work for and that's why Superior was the race. I
have to say that I did not adequately comprehend what I was getting into but
I’m so glad I did it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">TJ Jeannette</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: </span>That’s easy. I’m from Duluth. It’s
home. It’s in my parents’ back yard. And it helps that their back yard is such
a beautiful trail environment. That location makes it easier for family to be
there. It makes it inclusive for my crew. It started with that convenience. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
And after doing the spring run and the 50-miler last year (2013)
there was no choice. In fact, I had asked my coach at the time (Chris
Lundstrom) if he would train me for the 2013 100. He said no. He said I needed
to build up to it. Give it more time. He was right. I did the 50 miler with
negative splits, just flying at the end, feeling good and passing people. That
really did it for me. It’s convenient, but it’s also awesome. It’s conveniently
awesome.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqUVC8k-J1Y8iQUr_bqMxKE9qjOukSepyEAfAWi-bwLtHl7fQQhcBiFcwJoBO3TV-21QdOhZK5AJOxkl5TjlunP6FWjxEelSaZO6rT5mRuvE8NAwgxpYVBc5T4kQ9btrm5TT7Aiqyuug/s1600/IMGP1923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqUVC8k-J1Y8iQUr_bqMxKE9qjOukSepyEAfAWi-bwLtHl7fQQhcBiFcwJoBO3TV-21QdOhZK5AJOxkl5TjlunP6FWjxEelSaZO6rT5mRuvE8NAwgxpYVBc5T4kQ9btrm5TT7Aiqyuug/s320/IMGP1923.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Stuart Johnson</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Why not? At first it was because it was a pretty place. Tough but not
crazy hard. Then as it got tougher it was partly because of that. All 100s are
hard. Superior Trail just ups the hardness scale a bit! People that haven't
done it won't get it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nick Koenig</span></b><span style="font-family: "cambria"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">: Location...it was a few hours away. I was a newbie to the sport.
I'd figured I'd rather fail a race closer to home than spend the money to
venture out of state to fail. Quite the positive attitude. But hey, I’m often
realistic with myself. Anything can happen out there on the trail. I’m glad
Superior chose me to run with her. I will attempt a few more times to be sure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Scott Kummer</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: Superior has a unique set of both beauty
and challenges that no other race I have run provided. The beauty, the rustic
nature, I love everything about the Superior Hiking Trail. I also think it’s one
of the better put on races. John does an amazing job. It’s first class. He also
keeps it small and intimate. It feels like family. It feels like a homecoming.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Kevin Langton</span></b><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">: </span>It's freaking Superior! When I was
freshly sober, in 2006, I was backpacking the SHT southbound
and came across the race, which was moving northbound, of course. Most runners
went by while I was sleeping, but in the morning I met some runners on the
trail. And I visited with the sweeps for a few minutes. I’ve always loved
running, especially on trails, so I figured if I can hike it, maybe I can run it too. The SHT is a perfect
playground for a long run. It’s truly magical. This race is special, from the directors to
the volunteers to the rich history—when it started there were less than a dozen
of these in the country. But there is always the landscape. It becomes a part
of us. It shapes us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Matt Long</span></b><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">: </span>It’s convenient.
I live right here. It’s beautiful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Matt Lutz</span></b><span style="color: #141823; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I got hooked on trail running when sometime
in 2006 or 2007 I was hiking in Split Rock State Park on the SHT with two
friends. We were way loaded down, nowhere near the ultralight set up I have
now. And there was this dude who was just running up and over hills we were
struggling to walk up. It was the end of the day, it was hot, and holy shit
that guy was running where we were barely able to walk. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I was already in
love with the SHT at that time, and wanted to do a thru-hike (I did that in May
2008 with my brother). But Google and Dean Karnazes's first book led me to the
Superior Spring Races, back when the Perbixes organized and directed them. And
I was hooked. I'll always come back. Always.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yD9O6HzkvKsQOcpH-6cWYxH-y7TxwI7_4Nnp_SoOpsQ2K89hr0Egs3ZbHzaDjzWnUCsmcXNvy_MtDdoeDVmdu7u10f6mxZoK0vIN7BwC2hEGPkPZKCCKqEN7FYNtmmDQj6xGqc36p9s/s1600/IMGP1928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yD9O6HzkvKsQOcpH-6cWYxH-y7TxwI7_4Nnp_SoOpsQ2K89hr0Egs3ZbHzaDjzWnUCsmcXNvy_MtDdoeDVmdu7u10f6mxZoK0vIN7BwC2hEGPkPZKCCKqEN7FYNtmmDQj6xGqc36p9s/s320/IMGP1928.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this sign. And I hate it too.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="5yl5"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Roberto
Marron</span></b></span><span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: It's a great local
race, beautiful landscape, and a challenging course. Back in 2010 I showed up
for the race as a first time 100 miler—without knowing anything about running a
100 mile and definitely unprepared! I had to drop at mile 74. It made me
realize that I was weak. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Steve Moore</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Superior was a Hardrock 100 qualifier and that is what drew
me to sign up but the idea of a point-to-point 100 in a cooler-than-Texas
climate solidified it for me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Christi Nowak</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: <span style="color: #1a1a1a;">I
did Superior as my first 100 because I love the North Shore—I grew up visiting
there—and I felt that the beautiful scenery would help get me through the
challenges of the race. I was familiar with much of the course already, which
made me more confident that I could finish. And on a practical note, the fact
that I didn't need to travel far to get to it helped.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Larry Pederson</b>:
At the time it was the closest. Kettle and Rushmore were near too.<span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtafQtSWc3jj9_rykChcU8fenwrUkyTHmhqV0pGk7KDk2P60j2ws0PuLXPz8aZYX7Taik9GBVfzI6-9RdYPUDAE-Z2EcJp1UVMY9KuheRIj8JRguU5g2cP6kLwpeZimg-dqR0J5GMXtI/s1600/PA090367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtafQtSWc3jj9_rykChcU8fenwrUkyTHmhqV0pGk7KDk2P60j2ws0PuLXPz8aZYX7Taik9GBVfzI6-9RdYPUDAE-Z2EcJp1UVMY9KuheRIj8JRguU5g2cP6kLwpeZimg-dqR0J5GMXtI/s320/PA090367.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Scott Rassbach</b>:
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Larry Pederson [Scott’s uncle and
previous Superior race director] is the obvious connection. I was thrilled to
finish my first 100 miler at his race.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.8pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">As a
child, my parents took my sister and me camping at Gooseberry Falls State Park
several times. I have great memories of this place and love to return when I
can. It seems like a very “Minnesotan” thing to do.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<b>Mallory Richard</b>:
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wanted to run
Superior because I heard it got the seal of approval from Sue Lucas, who's the
toughest runner I've ever met and I've always been a little in awe of her. I
keep going back because the course has this ability like nothing else to expose
your weaknesses and force you through them. I make mistakes and come up short
in some aspect of my race each time, so I have to go back again the next year
to fix it. Is "the perfect Superior performance" a white whale?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Jeffrey Rock</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: </span><span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It's
the most difficult course that I know of around this area. I'm sure no 100
miler is easy, but if I want to test the limits I want the most difficult I
thing I can find. A lot of other reasons too. The beauty of the trail, lake,
and woods. The people involved in this race are awesome, from the racers all
the way to the race director. It's almost as if everyone is more concerned with
your success than their own. Then you have the volunteers. I have no words to
describe just how good they are.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14pt; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Todd Rowe</b>:
<span style="color: #2a2f3c; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Running the Superior
100 was always about doing time on this trail. Before running the 100 there, I
have loved every minute I have spent on the SHT. From running the shorter races
to backpacking Bear and Bean Lakes to a winter camping experience at Bear Lake to
camping trips along the North Shore with day hikes on the SHT. So I didn't want
to run a 100-mile race and then pick one close or hard or any of the other
things about Superior that also factor into the equation. It was always about
running on this trail, in this place, in a mind-numbingly challenging way. I
still have no desire to run 100 miles at Zumbro, as much as I love being there
and running there and helping. There are some mountain 100s that intrigue
me—Bighorn, Black Hills, Pine to Palm. But the place matters to me way more than
the distance. It was never about running 100 miles for me. It was always about
tackling this trail in a big way.</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="5yl5"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jordan
Schmidt</span></b></span><span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: </span></span>First,
I had to for Gnarly Bandit. But when I was in high school, on our senior trip,
I saw the race, saw people finishing, and I vowed to come back. I DNF’ed my
first try and I thought about that every day for that year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<b>Adam Schwartz-Lowe:</b>
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<span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It's
local for me, the course is technical, which is one of my strengths, and it's
low elevation (which is great for all of us Midwesterners). The first time I
ran was mainly because it was close. Now it's a great end of season race, well
organized, and it's fun to run on familiar ground, which isn't as stressful as
traveling to a new race.</span>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Helen Scotch</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: When I ran Superior in 2008 I'd been
living in the Twin Cities for a few years and considered the SHT my home course
so it was a natural choice for a first 100. The race organization
and support is amazing but most of all the trail is a hidden gem. There
are sections where you feel like you're in a fairy tale (even when your
feet are screaming at you in pain).</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Shawn Severson</b>:
It’s a Storkamp race. It’s local. It’s recognized as being difficult. It also
counts as 4 points for UTMB qualification.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew the aid stations and safety would be top notch. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnyYuZKUclL965WlfMavOXdYf3Qios4oasvtIuSyr0T6LA4Syt2WN1iGC-rboIOxZV69pIJGOT-P0j4J4jVNkRNpNM7DPdzSCDXc9eq9xZG7iWIasnti3fgTScrLaxsnUE-tLJb44VzE/s1600/PA090181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMnyYuZKUclL965WlfMavOXdYf3Qios4oasvtIuSyr0T6LA4Syt2WN1iGC-rboIOxZV69pIJGOT-P0j4J4jVNkRNpNM7DPdzSCDXc9eq9xZG7iWIasnti3fgTScrLaxsnUE-tLJb44VzE/s320/PA090181.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">John Storkamp</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">: Because it is one of the oldest/most
historic 100 milers in the country—when it was founded there were only about a
dozen 100 milers in the country. Because it takes place on the shores of one of
the greatest, most powerful bodies of water in the world (Lake Superior) in
some of the most diverse and fascinating forests anywhere. Because it is hard.
Really hard.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Marcus Taintor</b>: <span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The first time I saw people doing Superior 100 was in the
early 90's when I was out delivering papers. I just happened to be walking by
as the race was starting in Silver Bay. I remember being 12 or 13 and going out
in the woods behind Silver Bay and seeing the glowsticks still on the trees and
being in total awe that these people were running all the way to Grand Marais.
It wasn't until I moved back to Duluth after living out of my van for four
years that I started getting into running again and realized I might actually
be able to finish the 100 myself. Being it's where I grew up I guess the
Superior Hiking Trail has always been my home.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Ed Thomas</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wanted to do a
tough course. I heard Superior was tough. I just didn't know how tough until I
ran it.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"> </span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Jarrow Wahman</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">: A few years after Harry Sloan
started putting on the Superior Trail 100, I knew that I would one day do it as
it was run on some very challenging but memorable trails. I DNFed at the 1994
race, making 85 miles, stopping while still in the lead, my biggest mistake
being caffeine deprivation. I couldn't stay awake. It took me until 2011 to get
back out there and finish the damn thing. It helps that they put caffeine in
gels now. I'm glad I went back and finished it, although it was frustrating
being so much older, slower and weaker than I was back in the 1990s when I
could have perhaps won the race. But I knew I had to finish it even if I were
much slower. It's great to be able to share the experience of finishing that
race with others who have. </span></div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-87157554959787062722015-08-21T13:53:00.001-07:002015-08-21T14:07:06.551-07:00Superior 100 Frequently Asked Questions <style>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Superior 100
Frequently Asked Questions </b></div>
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(with a lil help from John Storkamp)</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqzi8zpBsZ8a6r8c-nNngSzWyAeOOinT9gujCi8_MZBM4wpQFAaCrkZGymgB-FLye9BWzV60WXeGxDdf2xMaUvWV3m-Bg3Q0mk3HPQkyhUcoSAjiFPIJF-WIcrYAItlD0eePlmF7xhYg/s1600/PA120018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqzi8zpBsZ8a6r8c-nNngSzWyAeOOinT9gujCi8_MZBM4wpQFAaCrkZGymgB-FLye9BWzV60WXeGxDdf2xMaUvWV3m-Bg3Q0mk3HPQkyhUcoSAjiFPIJF-WIcrYAItlD0eePlmF7xhYg/s320/PA120018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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1. How far is it? </div>
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Great question. Trail races are rarely standard distances,
and the organizers like to make sure you get your money’s worth. The current
course from Gooseberry State Park to the finish line at Caribou Highlands on
Lutsen Mountain is actually 103.3 miles long. Don Clark and Bonnie Riley have measured
this distance twice with a measuring wheel. </div>
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2. Do you run it all at once?</div>
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<span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You run, walk, and crawl it all at once, if
you are lucky. Many (usually 40 or 50%) will not make it to the finish line.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Runners have 38 hours to finish. In addition, runners must reach certain aid stations before cutoff times. The first cutoff time is at
Silver Bay aid station at 4 pm on Friday. That means runners have 8 hours to
cover the 25 miles from the start to Silver Bay. If they don’t get there by 4
pm, a course sweeper (someone who follows the race running/walking the course picking up
markers, stray trash, and runners) will pull them out of the race.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The 38 hour cutoff is one of the more generous of 100 mile
races. Cutoff times can be an indication of course difficulty. The Lean Horse
100, a relatively flat race on a former rail bed in the Black Hills of South
Dakota, has a cutoff time of 30 hours, while the Hardock 100, a ridiculously
mountainous Colorado run, has a cut off of 48 hours. With that said, any time
someone runs 100 miles it’s difficult, and climbing and elevation are only some
indicators of difficulty. Lean Horse is not easy—after all it’s 100 miles, in
August, with little shade.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCQwBYQzjKn9AO0vJ-2eiXJVljCFCKyC-VdjKv4y1Y74TEVaiLrjuat7PAnAW-Mzx-IHiO45Ma57Zzdfau9F_oZqUflsIxNDmzMLSMuRi9jUxDKxQyt-y4bo0F9ga1r_3RFhaPjyAkXdg/s1600/RIMG0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCQwBYQzjKn9AO0vJ-2eiXJVljCFCKyC-VdjKv4y1Y74TEVaiLrjuat7PAnAW-Mzx-IHiO45Ma57Zzdfau9F_oZqUflsIxNDmzMLSMuRi9jUxDKxQyt-y4bo0F9ga1r_3RFhaPjyAkXdg/s320/RIMG0127.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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3. Do you run the whole way? </div>
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Most don’t. Many power hike the hills to keep their heart rates
somewhat level (less energy expenditure). Some walk because it’s all
their legs will allow them to do at the time. Forward progress and staying
ahead of the course sweepers is key to finishing. “Run when you can, walk when
you must,” is mid-race advice that helped me get through my first hundred.</div>
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4. But I don’t even like to drive a hundred miles. </div>
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That’s not a question. Many ultrarunners don’t like to drive
that far either. Although they will to get to a race.</div>
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5. What is a pacer?</div>
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<span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A pacer is a life-size, walking and
running punching bag / glutton for punishment—not really necessary but runners
are welcome to have them. </span></span>A pacer can run with the racer after
the 43-mile point (County Road 6 aid station) after 6 pm on Friday. A pacer gives
company to the runner, keeps him or her moving, and can be an aid to safety if
the runner is out of his or her mind and not paying attention to important landscape challenges like
cliffs and waterfalls. Pacers have been known to fight off possums and other wildlife. Pacers
tell stories and bad jokes and sing songs. They can’t carry, or “mule,”
equipment, food, water, etc. for the runners. Some runners use pacers and
others don’t.</div>
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6. What’s a crew?</div>
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A crew is the runner’s posse. <span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A
crew is like a pacer but they get abused by their runners just once every few
hours, at the trailheads. </span></span>These people drive from aid station to
aid station, wait and wait, and then when the runner comes through, they
experience a couple minutes of chaos, then drive to the next aid station and
wait some more. During the chaos period, crewmembers may provide emotional
support, cowbell, foot rubs and blister drainage, food, a change of clothes, a
much-needed pep talk, sympathy, and Facebook updates. My wife tells me not to be a
Sally. She unlaces muddy shoes at 3 am when my fingers won’t work and the smell
makes her gag and she puts fresh socks on my swollen feet. She refills my
hydration vest with Tailwind and Gu packets. Then she tells me to get moving
and sometimes offers a kiss (or maybe I ask for one), unless I’ve been puking in the woods. The emotional
benefit I get from seeing her at aid stations is priceless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RsDszb6Cf_maQ-t21EYdiMTAEelT88GIxJnQiyKkXOszHlUpeSEd4SJkXpeXOG0GfK7gaSrFxs0QruMuH38XcPKI_gnZzbS_l9QnkZBtu0TPe04I4aBpdr6wd39GlarM70EcapCG00o/s1600/IMG_2593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RsDszb6Cf_maQ-t21EYdiMTAEelT88GIxJnQiyKkXOszHlUpeSEd4SJkXpeXOG0GfK7gaSrFxs0QruMuH38XcPKI_gnZzbS_l9QnkZBtu0TPe04I4aBpdr6wd39GlarM70EcapCG00o/s320/IMG_2593.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa's instructions</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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7. People run marathons in just over two hours. Why is the
pace so much slower for this?</div>
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<br /></div>
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As the race director says, “<span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s
a little hilly and the terrain is not what most people would consider ideal
running surface.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Wynn Davis once said that running the
Superior 100 is like trying to solve a puzzle with your feet for two days
straight.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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Aside from the obvious (it’s longer), trail running is a
much different beast than road running. Road running is about repetition,
putting many quick strides together over an even, paved surface, while with
trail running every step is different and unique. The Superior Hiking Trail is
a challenge not only with its constant climbing and ascending, but also with the
roots, rocks, and mud that runners dance through. Running or hiking it helps a
person find humility. And blisters and broken toes and lost toenails. When
people unfamiliar with this trail experience it with a runner, the first
question or comment is often, “You really run on this?” Adam Schwartz-Lowe’s
winning pace in 2014 was just over 13 minutes per mile. That’s beast-mode fast
on this trail.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKSmk7Z9-vebVbT0bQBedVftwCiMKKdE2qZWtsjDzX6h8RD2Z3c6nwzI8a5vRKlvx-ju4g11G2gCotgxQMQoM3jZxriG0WErXYouGCHp_3JJuplzAZbM3bxmLepuouqUm57rpWAXBfCE/s1600/DSCF3029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKSmk7Z9-vebVbT0bQBedVftwCiMKKdE2qZWtsjDzX6h8RD2Z3c6nwzI8a5vRKlvx-ju4g11G2gCotgxQMQoM3jZxriG0WErXYouGCHp_3JJuplzAZbM3bxmLepuouqUm57rpWAXBfCE/s320/DSCF3029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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8. Do you eat while running?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Fueling is key to a successful finish and that means eating.
The body burns an incredible amount of calories in these events. Aid stations
are buffets.</div>
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9. What do you eat?</div>
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<br /></div>
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An easier and simpler question to answer would be: What do
you not eat? Visualize army ants eating their way through the jungle. They eat
what you put in front of them. Hopefully most of it stays down. Standard aid
station foods are boiled and salted potatoes, cheeseburgers, pizza,
quesadillas, grilled cheese sandwiches, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
bacon, pancakes, cookies, potato chips, oranges, bananas, grapes, Gummy Bears,
Twizzlers, Coke, Ginger Ale, chicken noodle soup, potato soup, energy gels,
electrolyte capsules, and so on. And runners bring their own variations too. Salts
and simple sugars that the body can easily break down are popular. Some odd favorites
are Pop-Tarts, burritos, Ramen noodles, even Spaghetti-Os and chocolate milk. </div>
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10. Where do you sleep? </div>
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Most runners don’t sleep. Some do, usually out of necessity.
It’s possible to see runners dirt napping under tents in aid stations, on rocks
on the course, on gravel parking lots, etc. Some runners claim to have slept
while actually running. The lack of sleep can cause emotional roller coaster
rides and hallucinations.</div>
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11. What are the hallucinations like?</div>
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They can be nonexistent, fun, or irritating. Mostly they’re
irritating. They usually aren’t the kind of cartoon-like hallucinations one might
experience when tripping on LSD. They’re softer than that. They might begin
with auditory hallucinations—I often think someone is running behind me only to
turn around and see no one. Then the visuals might kick in, maybe after a full
night without sleep. In the 2014 Superior 100, tree stumps, rocks, and branches
were dogs for me on first glance. Since I’m a dog person, it was a good thing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8uiPnS2tGSBUZiA8B-3ngptr2SZyU-yJva6Q2p9atJ_lWtgkiLgthCTrJmgX5OZoluF2pWgUogLN4KbafQZ9Ayjji6tgLoIf3eZXVO_SJwhwuoIgrkZTgBo21glxg2k9xD8SNqSCY8SE/s1600/IMG_2561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8uiPnS2tGSBUZiA8B-3ngptr2SZyU-yJva6Q2p9atJ_lWtgkiLgthCTrJmgX5OZoluF2pWgUogLN4KbafQZ9Ayjji6tgLoIf3eZXVO_SJwhwuoIgrkZTgBo21glxg2k9xD8SNqSCY8SE/s320/IMG_2561.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallucination?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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12. Do you get lost?</div>
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It’s possible, but the Superior Hiking Trail is one of the
best-marked long trails in the country, with regular signs and blazes (a blue
paint stripe on rocks and trees). In addition, before the race, markers walk
the course, placing an incredible amount of orange ribbons on the trail. At
Superior there are at least ten ribbons per mile. These ribbons are reflective
and easy to see at night, based on a marking system that Don Clark developed. In
the early years, these ribbons were placed on tree limbs. Don realized that
most runners have to keep their eyes focused on the ground, so the race
switched to a system of ribbons attached to metal wires (originally clothes
hangars that Don, Bonnie Riley, and Maynard Lagace cut and straightened) that
are placed in the ground.</div>
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Still, it’s easy to get confused when you’re tired. Runners
have gotten lost, but they have all been found. Eventually.</div>
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Remember Storkamp's pre-race instructions to “keep
Lake Superior on your right.”</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNbK4yhb6gaRkxyCC69UcDATMIEDvpkeozN2U1Vyps74YhHaIEDTpjzFvdP-e2APCEG_3NQpoCKkXEeJwKdjG1AR0n6531hYi7FS5tYDDl8b3NjJSbTWLIWkD9riLUlWhRJ34s5Ywl31Y/s1600/RIMG0064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNbK4yhb6gaRkxyCC69UcDATMIEDvpkeozN2U1Vyps74YhHaIEDTpjzFvdP-e2APCEG_3NQpoCKkXEeJwKdjG1AR0n6531hYi7FS5tYDDl8b3NjJSbTWLIWkD9riLUlWhRJ34s5Ywl31Y/s320/RIMG0064.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race Director with blue blaze marker on tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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13. How do you train for such a long race?</div>
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Lots of time spent on the feet. Long runs are a must,
sometimes in daily succession, what is called back-to-back or even
back-to-back-to-back (say Friday, Saturday, and Sunday) long runs. The goal is
to teach the legs to run when they are tired, when they don’t think they are
capable of running more. </div>
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Lots of hills, or hill repeats, help. Some do speed training
as well, but the strength training of running hills is a necessity.</div>
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Because trail running is such a full body sport, cross
training is helpful too. Cross-country skiing, biking, yoga, and swimming are
all popular.</div>
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The idea of training specificity, of emulating course
conditions, is especially important, and one of the only ways to emulate the
unique nature of the Superior Hiking Trail is to run the Superior Hiking Trail.
When they can, runners will try to invest some miles on the course itself.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindwtVxtezjTMDKrvmq_DQrd1rquzy63BCZvD-0O-qpf9I1tHx_GNee0gYUxPkS1-z_eQIJ_46vlnYS5beAerYfsUYCymb_z6XVIItDyH2vUF7YXAierBwBPpByF7MBXrvwHgpSDFmMWI/s1600/IMG_9593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindwtVxtezjTMDKrvmq_DQrd1rquzy63BCZvD-0O-qpf9I1tHx_GNee0gYUxPkS1-z_eQIJ_46vlnYS5beAerYfsUYCymb_z6XVIItDyH2vUF7YXAierBwBPpByF7MBXrvwHgpSDFmMWI/s320/IMG_9593.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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14. Do you take bathroom breaks?</div>
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Yes. Runners will pee, shit, and vomit in the woods. If
they’re smart they carry toilet paper too. <span class="5yl5"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Knowing
how to go in the woods is a critical skill in any long ultra.</span></span></div>
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15. What happens to your feet?</div>
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Few runners leave the course with perfect feet. They will
hurt. They will be swollen and blistered. The amount of rocks and roots at Superior triggers broken toes, ankle sprains and so on. Some people lose the skin
under the heel pad. After the race, toenails continue to turn black or purple,
and eventually fall off. Some runners like to share pictures of their post-race
feet on social media like a badge of badassery. Please don’t do this.</div>
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16. How long does it take to recover?</div>
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Few runners cross the finish line thinking, “I can’t wait to
do this again.” Some may take a blood oath right there to never run again.
Conveniently they may already have plenty of available blood spilling out of
them. Some runners are back at it within a week, while others might take a
month or more off. During the week after running a hundred miler, I often
experience increased appetites, fatigue, and an inability to focus, but a runner like John Taylor spends that same time packing for his next hundred-mile race. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4ScnNrJEjYMvcEXhJQfKSxhYDwYUMD7gRP0YdT64Vb76BteqA6GOYMkUSjT2-qxxlD95J8lujFWBHc28S9DewC2zDX650YWIxxgijYF709WGpR91XvKMlI1Ml2TwYDUv6Y891OSsakk/s1600/PA120034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig4ScnNrJEjYMvcEXhJQfKSxhYDwYUMD7gRP0YdT64Vb76BteqA6GOYMkUSjT2-qxxlD95J8lujFWBHc28S9DewC2zDX650YWIxxgijYF709WGpR91XvKMlI1Ml2TwYDUv6Y891OSsakk/s320/PA120034.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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17. What is wrong with you that you would run 100 miles? </div>
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Plenty. Obsessiveness helps a person get to the finish.
While there might not be anything “wrong” with people dealing with mental
health issues or recovering from alcoholism/addiction and eating disorders, higher numbers of us
seem drawn to ultrarunning. A long run in the woods can be good, cheap therapy.<br />
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18. What’s the deal with belt buckles (or, Whose idea was
this anyway)?</div>
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In 1974 Gordy Ainsleigh completed the Western States Trail
Ride in California on foot. Buckles were given to finishers of the horse ride,
and Gordy got one too. His feat evolved into the Western States Endurance Run,
and the idea of awarding buckles to finishers stuck. </div>
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In 1983 Harry Sloan, the original Superior Race Director, completed his first Western States
Endurance Run (he now has 13 finishes there) and Western States became his
model for Superior 100. The first Superior buckle was awarded to Bob Stavig in 1991.
That buckle was the shape of a wolf’s face, with a runner’s profile between the
wolf’s eyes.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYAx4Jpu00ZaA85gB8hrtLUDQf8LTRp5XSrwlW69C-fFlIVMIQVW44tlkO15J-nIhGyAZGUAM9L1KNwLEDmUy_2R3TthET59QtGxthfEY_HtmkgFwZv5YYRfujRlqrYpHrdmduLWizD0/s1600/IMG_2721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYAx4Jpu00ZaA85gB8hrtLUDQf8LTRp5XSrwlW69C-fFlIVMIQVW44tlkO15J-nIhGyAZGUAM9L1KNwLEDmUy_2R3TthET59QtGxthfEY_HtmkgFwZv5YYRfujRlqrYpHrdmduLWizD0/s320/IMG_2721.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom Weigt's buckle (left) and mine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-76070931176623905352015-04-15T13:48:00.002-07:002015-04-15T19:42:32.952-07:00Zumbro 2015<span id="goog_197462245"></span><span id="goog_197462246"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was scared of Zumbro this year, more scared than usual. I came limping into it after a winter of calf issues, IT band issues, and a downhill fall at Seven Mile Creek that I still feel sometimes in my left knee. I didn't have the amount of winter miles I had hoped for, but I did have a few confidence boosting back to back long runs. The IT band was still an issue a week before the race, but getting better with lots of rolling and stretching and yoga. My expectations for the race kept changing as it got closer, and the ultimate goal was to finish and have fun. Still, I was more worried than usual about not finishing. I even considered not running it, but this is Zumbro. I love the race. I have that owl tattoed on my leg, after all.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5vTCmEeRJsa8C7q9aWMbv4dt63D6A-_FxYF_VE6N_eYkN7gi3i3RsZqvt0UGQmFp0P0Xa1UlIZl7MqtOSGWvQx3ljak1TyQ912wAFI9nOMCJjoIrXNja2fHx7o-mwFh-V1DB37ESHTw/s640/blogger-image-913979452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5vTCmEeRJsa8C7q9aWMbv4dt63D6A-_FxYF_VE6N_eYkN7gi3i3RsZqvt0UGQmFp0P0Xa1UlIZl7MqtOSGWvQx3ljak1TyQ912wAFI9nOMCJjoIrXNja2fHx7o-mwFh-V1DB37ESHTw/s320/blogger-image-913979452.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Zach Pierce</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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Another intimidation was that last year I dropped at mile 80 with hypothermia (but I finished on the icy course of 2013). Somehow I worked the worry out of my head before the race. I love the week before a hundred. I focus on mental and spiritual preparation. I walk through my rituals. It would take a gorilla amped on methamphetamines and a baseball bat to knock me off my beam or get me worried about something.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXC4LyHcmLSl2iD2lJbGNdLlnLG0WC1yZb3mxtGsJxB-g8eINCsCoIaVi15ykvlf0mZBPIoDhNMSKQVhj14ixLHjhV268SSxGLSBL2VHmFQ86zmE5YoHBoTNe-Vaoi-YSHHYm5J0Q-qS8/s1600/RIMG0025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXC4LyHcmLSl2iD2lJbGNdLlnLG0WC1yZb3mxtGsJxB-g8eINCsCoIaVi15ykvlf0mZBPIoDhNMSKQVhj14ixLHjhV268SSxGLSBL2VHmFQ86zmE5YoHBoTNe-Vaoi-YSHHYm5J0Q-qS8/s1600/RIMG0025.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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It rained Thursday. At race check-in that evening, it poured and pools of mud puddled in the fields at the campground. It snowed Thursday night. This is simply how Zumbro works.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6pP28qz7Rf-ft8A5p86fMNviJzCsbqvMxpJ6J2BU4Q16NURhK39WGG7SLV95-hm-298XybiAxlCqYpd8EGOEHGA1L7ZdY6qJrKrqst9csFg0UZflrsedLnVj9fxMp1Yo4JZtouSY_LU/s1600/P4090019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6pP28qz7Rf-ft8A5p86fMNviJzCsbqvMxpJ6J2BU4Q16NURhK39WGG7SLV95-hm-298XybiAxlCqYpd8EGOEHGA1L7ZdY6qJrKrqst9csFg0UZflrsedLnVj9fxMp1Yo4JZtouSY_LU/s1600/P4090019.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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My wife, Lisa, is my secret weapon at these things. She really knows how to take care of me, even when I don't. Most people agree that I'm pretty lucky that way. Someone I met running at night, in the dark, asked, "Oh are you with Lisa? She's awesome."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-LuqjZpTtcR78NoyeHUQbz3zAGLegSlSIwJCvNmizZs53LKelHuXW5VrlXLA5dXBUCsk0XrsVEmQ2uHbtMpxMFHZj5CPeFiJ2qEvS4wqSEjXh935JVO1_hE4yhmyNTmbpigw964UkRGI/s1600/P4100026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-LuqjZpTtcR78NoyeHUQbz3zAGLegSlSIwJCvNmizZs53LKelHuXW5VrlXLA5dXBUCsk0XrsVEmQ2uHbtMpxMFHZj5CPeFiJ2qEvS4wqSEjXh935JVO1_hE4yhmyNTmbpigw964UkRGI/s1600/P4100026.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Zach Pierce</td></tr>
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John Storkamp got on his ladder and told us some things and then told us to start running. Because there would eventually be multiple races happening on the same course, we 100 milers were given pink ribbons to tell other runners that we were dizzy, deranged, and stupid people. It's a wonderful idea and it encourages others to egg us on in our stupidity. I feed off their encouragement.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMfswnvL0_m5KfQY1AfjX-Tx6xKrj9Yskqrw-EkoBgzPDRDM4o0jpviXq8opGFm88JJxsCzVv-g-jDPmH9d-I3VXQ5QwGz-S-Gry00M7rT-zTvlYfM5CAr0LAcYUYM02_VsgTNOCp-Z8/s1600/RIMG0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMfswnvL0_m5KfQY1AfjX-Tx6xKrj9Yskqrw-EkoBgzPDRDM4o0jpviXq8opGFm88JJxsCzVv-g-jDPmH9d-I3VXQ5QwGz-S-Gry00M7rT-zTvlYfM5CAr0LAcYUYM02_VsgTNOCp-Z8/s1600/RIMG0001.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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We started running, onto the trail and up to the bluffs overlooking the campground of the start/finish area.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzVdvqyWrAMUH0nn2lkJwE2d2417h72IqRUXJQN34DvyN6ZZgHX5lqzhNqoMCma1ztpL9ILWaN4BboXPD6_Rd11QxODPekHi9G8GyOA22bEmRm6D8ciRTukpD7sWrpKTdCpT4tewWzJk/s1600/RIMG0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzVdvqyWrAMUH0nn2lkJwE2d2417h72IqRUXJQN34DvyN6ZZgHX5lqzhNqoMCma1ztpL9ILWaN4BboXPD6_Rd11QxODPekHi9G8GyOA22bEmRm6D8ciRTukpD7sWrpKTdCpT4tewWzJk/s1600/RIMG0005.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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My first goal of the race was to do no harm. I learned the phrase as it applies to ultrarunning from Jason Husveth at Superior. But I actually learned the lesson from Zumbro last year, when I started with a 3:15 first loop (Zumbro is a six loop course; each loop is 16.7 miles.), way too fast for me, and I suffered because of it. Do no harm to the race. It's so simple. But I'm excitable and impulsive. So for the first three loops I tried to nose breathe with my mouth closed in order to keep my heart rate from red-lining. Unless I was talking to someone, or occasionally climbing some of the steepest hills, my mouth was closed and smiling. It put me in a blissful meditative state. And it kept me from running too fast. If I needed to open my mouth for more oxygen, it was a reminder to slow down.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghw27X06r7Shyn0qU_n44yF3g20wK1CuvxB-UhlB1h1JWBJ_0W9XUKy2jVhWlAmZyLBmAtgMRltyKWUeu5eyEO4c7Y-zwTh6-Uh2JnTm4KkGlfkbAJ_hfQXsFZ9JwU17-2zY3_XdOTAz8/s1600/IMG_1234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghw27X06r7Shyn0qU_n44yF3g20wK1CuvxB-UhlB1h1JWBJ_0W9XUKy2jVhWlAmZyLBmAtgMRltyKWUeu5eyEO4c7Y-zwTh6-Uh2JnTm4KkGlfkbAJ_hfQXsFZ9JwU17-2zY3_XdOTAz8/s1600/IMG_1234.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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My hope was to be consistent with those first three loops, to keep them somewhere around 3:40 to 4 hours. Really to keep them around 4 hours, but I allowed myself a little bit of excitability room on that first loop. My splits were 3:42, 3:58, and 4:00. I was happy with that. I knew I wouldn't maintain that pace in the night, in the darkness, in the time when the body says sleep, when eating seems impossible, when the cold moisture creeps into the bones and on downhill stretches the rocks shine like dangerous traps calling to take your teeth on a fall and the sticks and mud move beneath your feet like living animals. In the daylight I wanted to be assertive without being aggressive, to lay down some healthy miles, to do no harm on day one, and somehow I found that place.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtzK0yW8EraW_JG0r0FMv-NEagc6Q-ucV8rQyxGLWwFnIRal9er4_bi4grdfRwsYDTasqgRUqmf5xo28Nc-kLgX2bTKcTvr23Sx1cVfnATfPPHM_0uJtsWSmeaV52aIEynT2eca90j1k/s1600/RIMG0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtzK0yW8EraW_JG0r0FMv-NEagc6Q-ucV8rQyxGLWwFnIRal9er4_bi4grdfRwsYDTasqgRUqmf5xo28Nc-kLgX2bTKcTvr23Sx1cVfnATfPPHM_0uJtsWSmeaV52aIEynT2eca90j1k/s1600/RIMG0007.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Towards the end of loop one, while I was coming down Ant Hill, a puffy snow fell and soon turned to rain. All those around me pulled out rain shells. I did too. We were carrying memories of last year's rain. It lasted a short way into loop two. Otherwise our day was beautiful. The trails were in good shape, muddy but soaking up the water. It was a perfect day for running here. The rain and mud were just enough to keep us from getting bored.</div>
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The day was a blast. I ran with lots of fun people. I saw so many awesome and helpful friends (old and new) at the aid stations and all over the course, people who fed me and hugged me and teased me and kept me moving. The aid station dogs were out and I got to see Winston and Tucker and Pearl and an adorable German Shepherd pup.</div>
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I carried a two liter pack with a Tailwind mixture and drank from it consistently. In fact, I've never peed so much in any race. I bet I peed once every hour. That's a lot of time. I was peeing so much that I tried to do it moving once. I also tried to consistently eat real food at the aid stations, and that wasn't a problem in the day. </div>
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The leaders came by to lap me in loop three. Jake Hegge and Mike Borst were running relaxed and having fun. I told them they were only allowed to lap me once. I gave them a few big loud Woos. I really like both of these guys, having gotten to know them some for a writing project. They're good people, so it was a real lift to see them both running so well and relaxed. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halfway</td></tr>
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I was getting sore by the halfway mark, feeling it in my hips. I was surprised that my knee was holding out so well, although it whispered its presence to me on the downhills. It was near dark when I left the campground for loop four with my headlamp around my neck. I tried to cover the remaining daylight miles as well as I could. But loop four snuck up on me. Then it pounced. I felt the cold and wet burning in my feet. The climbs grew taller. My quads ached. At Picnic Rock, I sat down and turned off my headlamp, soaked in the stars. I put my head in my hands for a few minutes. Runners moved by me. I was looking for a reset button and wasn't sure where it might be, so eventually I got up and kept moving. It's all I could do. </div>
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The night was filled with the constant songs of coyotes, frogs and owls. </div>
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From a bluff I heard sandhill cranes in the river below. </div>
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My headlamp reflected the eyes of mice and rabbits.</div>
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Half a moon rose over a ridge. It was the color of grapefruit.</div>
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Aid station volunteers stoked a fire and warned me of its power to hold runners too long.</div>
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Food was not easy so I drank more and ate only a couple bananas. And pancakes with chocolate chips.</div>
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I wanted to send my parents a note saying how much I appreciate them.</div>
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I climbed into the moment, into the breathing.</div>
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Somehow I stumbled into the campground and got into the Jeep and turned the heat on. I was a mess. Lisa helped me change my wet socks and shoes. She's amazing. My feet were white raisins. Lisa rubbed my ears and neck and hands. I stayed in that Jeep a long time, 45 minutes. I tried to drink a Coke, but jumped out of the Jeep and threw up on my shoes. I left with warm feet and dry clothes and felt a lot better. </div>
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I moved better through loop five.<br />
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I wished I had poles.<br />
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I decided I wanted to learn to make artisan breads.<br />
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The leader of the 50 mile race came by. A minute later my friend Kurt Keiser came by and asked how far ahead the leader was. Kurt caught him soon and eventually broke the course record. Both of those runners own running stores, one in LaCrosse and one in Mankato.</div>
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I remembered something another runner had barked at me last year at the Black Hills 100, when she saw me walking downhill. She said, "Use the downs!" At every downhill, I remembered her snapping this at me and I moved a little quicker. In my mind I pictured her saying this as Large Marge from PeeWee's Big Adventure.</div>
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I was far away from the start/finish area when I heard a huge celebration. This must have been Mike Borst finishing, smashing the course record. Jake Hegge finished his first 100 only 15 minutes behind him. </div>
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I saw my friend Tom Weigt at Aid Station 1/4. He was running the fifty. It's always great to see Tom on the trail.</div>
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I found some strawberry Huma gels Lisa had put in my pocket. These went down well. I made an effort to eat more of them through the end.</div>
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The horizon began to lighten on the ridge just after Aid Station 4, off to my left. By the time I got to the campground, it was day again. My feet were wet and cold so I sat in the Jeep to warm up. I shivered and watched runners cross the field. Eventually I climbed out of the jump and left the campground around 7 am. My feet felt so much better now. I lost a lot of time with those two stops in the Jeep, but maybe they helped me finish.</div>
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I moved well through this lap, ticking off the miles as best I could, either running, shuffling or walking. I said goodbye to each landmark and obstacle. This lap is really a celebration, when I think, Well I don't have to do this hill again. I don't have to walk through that sand again. At the top of one climb, without thinking about it, I flipped off a simple sign nailed to a tree that said, "Picnic Rock."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hZi4hPc2KI92F0bmqdeW6wlDqk2z4M5KSjKaEke1DGn4KKOvn_MjOPpBPW69Y77hx4JQJopihtiV1b5_VrGG34YZfEY7sWy5LbsUKpd889vZW-G6R_-K8ZCF1OsQ8KjIXdCUK_l5FHQ/s1600/RIMG0022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hZi4hPc2KI92F0bmqdeW6wlDqk2z4M5KSjKaEke1DGn4KKOvn_MjOPpBPW69Y77hx4JQJopihtiV1b5_VrGG34YZfEY7sWy5LbsUKpd889vZW-G6R_-K8ZCF1OsQ8KjIXdCUK_l5FHQ/s1600/RIMG0022.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Every hundred miler I saw had some complaint about their quads aching, blowing up, falling apart. Mine were screaming too. </div>
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I really wanted to finish before noon, below 28 hours. The numbers 2747 kept popping into my head when I thought about this.</div>
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Climbing away from Aid Station 3, I looked down and saw my friend Shelly behind me. She was running the fifty. We often run together. I yelled at her and kept climbing. I didn't know how this hill had grown so much. She caught me on the climb and I followed her to the top. Then I told her we could visit later, that she was the first lady her age that I had seen, that she could move a lot faster than I could. As she often does at these things, she won her age group, fourth lady overall.</div>
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I walked some of the down on Ant Hill. I was trying to be careful with my knee and quads. I wasn't sure how far I had to go but it felt like 28 hours was out of reach. Still, 2747 popped into my head.</div>
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I walked some of the flat river road. I would run as far as my legs would let me and then I'd walk a stretch. Then try running again.</div>
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I saw Lisa before the bridge. She had come down to meet me. What an emotional bump seeing my honey was! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhvw5xoHi2pIczz8u1r-XXBvNFxxLUv3epeOf-NAHbuO0w0haVaAlaktvYXw1HRfOl_DpAsujU-fwo-SGzySjNSGj_Xt5-YjWencX72YVi4hHSZ3I0IgWVZZ7JbSyaw8z682cBBOSsncg/s1600/IMG_0446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhvw5xoHi2pIczz8u1r-XXBvNFxxLUv3epeOf-NAHbuO0w0haVaAlaktvYXw1HRfOl_DpAsujU-fwo-SGzySjNSGj_Xt5-YjWencX72YVi4hHSZ3I0IgWVZZ7JbSyaw8z682cBBOSsncg/s1600/IMG_0446.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit Todd Rowe</td></tr>
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I told the fine folks at Aid Station 4 I appreciated them very much, but I was glad I didn't have to see them there anymore. It was a happy farewell but I think they were getting tired of seeing me too, as nice as they were.</div>
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In those last miles a couple 17 miler friends came by and lifted me, Jim Kalina and then Josh Henning yelling Woo! from far back. </div>
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I told everyone who passed me to enjoy this moment. </div>
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Just before the campground, a lady passed me. I don't remember if she was running the 50 or 17. I said to her, I'm going to put myself in your back pocket if I can. I didn't make it ten steps before I was walking. Shuffling. Seizing. Then it was just a field to cross. To finish.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed had to tell me to keep going to cross the line.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signing the banner!</td></tr>
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<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption">The boys guarding the wooden finisher's medallion.</td></tr>
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My time was 27:47, the same number that had been popping into my head. Yeah, that's weird. <br />
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It was a perfect day to plant myself in a lawn chair and watch friends come in. My dad had driven over to see me finish. Lisa found me a cold root beer. </div>
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These things always teach me humility and gratitude, an appreciation of all the people in my life. Sometimes it's like that Talking Heads song and I'm surprised to find myself in this life. I ask, How did I get here? Especially after all the things I've done to this mind and body, stuff that happened years ago now. I feel truly blessed to be able to do this, visited by grace, truly blessed to be alive.</div>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-44894045409921659202015-01-13T10:20:00.001-08:002015-01-13T13:02:52.964-08:00Saint John USVI Runs and Hikes<div style="text-align: justify;">
Over half of Saint John's land mass (and two-thirds of the island if you include water) is US National Park. That makes it a trail runner or hiker's dream.</div>
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The book <b>Saint John: Feet, Fins and Four-Wheel Drive</b> is an awesome guidebook. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/John-Feet-Fins-Wheel-Drive/dp/0963106090">http://www.amazon.com/John-Feet-Fins-Wheel-Drive/dp/0963106090</a><br />
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For maps, the Trail Bandit's is best when considering trails. You can find it at some shops on the island. There are different versions, but the maps on each are the same. <b>Ask for the Trail Bandit map. </b>The NPS office sells one version, and I found another at a local dive/snorkel shop. There's no difference between the maps or trail descriptions that I can tell. You can download it for free at <a href="http://www.trailbandit.org/">http://www.trailbandit.org/</a>. Big props to this guy for all he's done to discover, maintain, and map trails. He's got a fascinating history with the park.</div>
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Most of my runs on Saint John were done on trails. These trails are often old ox roads from the sugar plantation days. On almost all of them I stumbled across ruins and many of those are marked on the Trail Bandit maps. My runs were 6-8 miles and I connected several trails together. After all, it's a small island. The roads are curvy and mountainous, not runner friendly, considering the traffic--and by the way, all driving is done on the left). I saw people running these roads and wondered, Why? There are amazing trails here. Maybe some people just prefer pavement. And I did sometimes run short portions of pavement to connect trails. We stayed on the south side, between Chocolate Hole and Hart Bay, and it was some road distance before I could find trails. In order to lessen impact of my running time on the rest of my family (we were sharing a rented Jeep), I dressed in my running clothes whenever we went to the beach and ran from there. The bonus to this was a wonderful swim at the end of each run.</div>
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<b>Leinster Bay/Johny Horn Trail</b><br />
I started this run at Maho Bay Beach and ran about a mile on roads to the Leinster Bay Trail. On the way I saw ruins of the Annaberg Country School and passed some cool mangrove trees.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mangrove</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QwUJn-0UDRv0yQPQPMP0XDwn7tJiqZCedn7dYjrL6DPM23RbKndHVylwtrpp3K5ZPqrtVFIWQWYmF-_VTgtIn6OjPJHcVxbW5C_TTmiypx24h6a7haPEnCNTfaS36tvQeGAnAOJpYOc/s1600/PC290286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QwUJn-0UDRv0yQPQPMP0XDwn7tJiqZCedn7dYjrL6DPM23RbKndHVylwtrpp3K5ZPqrtVFIWQWYmF-_VTgtIn6OjPJHcVxbW5C_TTmiypx24h6a7haPEnCNTfaS36tvQeGAnAOJpYOc/s1600/PC290286.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow from end of the road</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Near the Annaberg plantation ruins, the road ends and I followed a flat and scenic Leinster Bay Trail (an old road from the owner's house to the plantation) around the water's edge to Waterlemon Beach. We came back to this beach another day for snorkeling and it was our favorite snorkel spot with lots of fish, corals, and even a Spotted Eagle Ray. The Johny Horn Trail starts at this beach and passes several ruins right behind the beach, then goes up the mountain.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghI2X0VEz4aCqzlYuiqFCGMosq0UVlV6swYEF7uZZHjCIB9Qp0aGu9PnBKlDeMwVlVKnmREiKz94WvilYJMxCaNpFYeskbYUcfAkn7msXny1CeUcDCxHtDRzYUuWtDb6n-wFacELyjiiM/s1600/IMGP2042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghI2X0VEz4aCqzlYuiqFCGMosq0UVlV6swYEF7uZZHjCIB9Qp0aGu9PnBKlDeMwVlVKnmREiKz94WvilYJMxCaNpFYeskbYUcfAkn7msXny1CeUcDCxHtDRzYUuWtDb6n-wFacELyjiiM/s1600/IMGP2042.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pipe organ cactus on Johny Horn Trail</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXw2GHH3CdcX9y_dSqSzSnH0cMjv8o7E164c0kYcj8iMxXPPmfsw2sfGhIbNjMp0VqWs3O_ZWz-F9i5Mo0aIkFOh1h07-93S_e9JYoMN2RG1bEORIQ7qvdxzTllT7CQuj3ajRsshXVH4g/s1600/IMGP2061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXw2GHH3CdcX9y_dSqSzSnH0cMjv8o7E164c0kYcj8iMxXPPmfsw2sfGhIbNjMp0VqWs3O_ZWz-F9i5Mo0aIkFOh1h07-93S_e9JYoMN2RG1bEORIQ7qvdxzTllT7CQuj3ajRsshXVH4g/s1600/IMGP2061.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterlemon Cay from Annaberg owner's house</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Eventually the trail becomes a gravel road and tops out. The view here was nothing spectacular, surrounded by trees, and a family with kids sitting around the trail. I turned around. On the way down, I took an unmarked spur trail and came out at what someone told me had been the Annaberg plantation owner's house. It was mostly foundation and steps and some walls, all overrun by lovely wildflowers. Back on the road, with Maho Bay Beach in sight, I took a fall, a real grinder that dug pebbles and pavement into my knee, back, shoulder and hands. Maybe this is why I like trails--I bounce better there. A car stopped to ask if I was okay, and when I asked if the fall looked good, they asked if I would do it again so they could see it better. I limped into a beach chair and washed off in the soothing salt water. So many lovely views on this run. There are parking lots at the end of the road/beginning of the Leinster Bay Trail so one could easily make this run all trail, and you could continue down the hill where I turned around, on toward the Moravian Church and Coral Bay.<br />
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<b>Reef Bay Guided Hike</b><br />
We made reservations for this one (and the Full Moon Guided Hike) through the Friends of the Park office. I didn't know if I would like hiking with so many other people, and it could get frustrating adapting to other people's pace, but there were plenty of advantages here. First, the guide, a volunteer named Kent, was amazing, and freely shared his wealth of knowledge about plants, animals, history, etc. The group met at the Park Service building in Cruz Bay, where two taxis took us to the hike's start on Centerline Road. Kent led us slowly down the hill to Reef Bay, through four different ecosystems, and on the way we visited different ruins, ancient petroglyphs, and an old sugar mill. We learned so much more than if we had done this hike on our own (in fact, we have done this hike on our own on a previous trip), and at Reef Bay, instead of turning around and hiking back to the top, we rode a dinghy out to a boat that took us around the island back to the Park Service building, a fun way to get a different view of the island.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ubWktD9l2yoWo8Q0dsYvLP6BOBhhcT4UNpB2aDB_GT5bLQ5zBhtYrb5RnjL_vDIpKOkNxNRYlXVCqmMftGhFD79NL4g5U1qEWr1FFVnVq87lCiI-nprFQsE0CYNwf6Ufa23TvLJMSvY/s1600/PC300013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ubWktD9l2yoWo8Q0dsYvLP6BOBhhcT4UNpB2aDB_GT5bLQ5zBhtYrb5RnjL_vDIpKOkNxNRYlXVCqmMftGhFD79NL4g5U1qEWr1FFVnVq87lCiI-nprFQsE0CYNwf6Ufa23TvLJMSvY/s1600/PC300013.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buttress root system (see, I was listening)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijw7YnBAyJGfyrLuxCu4Iwmn_5gIQGZpLvPRWxa5FqDPomafVE1iAPKgDK_oY5Qo09qZrLyHyA6a_tem5t3wF1r59yKKxbg6lFZdYqwa1Y1hwiuLwPWDaeA81jI9mTek3nizhbNbPHRpM/s1600/PC300126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijw7YnBAyJGfyrLuxCu4Iwmn_5gIQGZpLvPRWxa5FqDPomafVE1iAPKgDK_oY5Qo09qZrLyHyA6a_tem5t3wF1r59yKKxbg6lFZdYqwa1Y1hwiuLwPWDaeA81jI9mTek3nizhbNbPHRpM/s1600/PC300126.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petroglyphs. Closest figure is a representation of a bat. Bats were important to the Taino, message carriers to their ancestors.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqgfSF_2LYSKH0NQdjWX1HRHja74K_iMZJRP5-qQhl10uBzLArfjvToNFC8jBofPIgTawviYePqk78sPCmWWeypznI0BHWEdr_61T9pt9eRhJdQb_IIFESBPTbcQEZ0t1J_58sb_J8kU/s1600/PC300140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqgfSF_2LYSKH0NQdjWX1HRHja74K_iMZJRP5-qQhl10uBzLArfjvToNFC8jBofPIgTawviYePqk78sPCmWWeypznI0BHWEdr_61T9pt9eRhJdQb_IIFESBPTbcQEZ0t1J_58sb_J8kU/s1600/PC300140.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petroglyphs</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioH6f14TdTNLbeRhhhtKqeJ3fUyKLOJss9K_nizRQf8zEfDexEoRvKUcFiQYyOiEYS0jIcHCm9k0sq-QwGJS9IUnkqLsowFpvgWKnKYIU4JG5BMa-B_tgiXO3WyzcFdaynIaPj2Ka9PqA/s1600/PC300187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioH6f14TdTNLbeRhhhtKqeJ3fUyKLOJss9K_nizRQf8zEfDexEoRvKUcFiQYyOiEYS0jIcHCm9k0sq-QwGJS9IUnkqLsowFpvgWKnKYIU4JG5BMa-B_tgiXO3WyzcFdaynIaPj2Ka9PqA/s1600/PC300187.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar mill ruins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIYbmxSFQBtl02y-rpuM0MzNLjV_DWRihpf4kz3iUpskXMXTGoTTCabWVezfsk6HZK4Z2Lz5weuR6NEIiwvT4DuwuU5fAPpY6eb5oeb85Hwuc2tmtiviHd9IxqZlHXxo6JoxWBh7HU_M0/s1600/PC300241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIYbmxSFQBtl02y-rpuM0MzNLjV_DWRihpf4kz3iUpskXMXTGoTTCabWVezfsk6HZK4Z2Lz5weuR6NEIiwvT4DuwuU5fAPpY6eb5oeb85Hwuc2tmtiviHd9IxqZlHXxo6JoxWBh7HU_M0/s1600/PC300241.JPG" height="249" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grave of W. H. Marsh</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyf87w_wS1WqYfvEy2M7A4FZJqaVFwi8TXQSpG_Z9AwGd_rBnLtdaIjpZP7Hndr5aBHfqAUwTXgBSXO7zyZW1jDCB3qB_w1pcKmDXSVIBYgWdGy-pP7iKgyrVg1d7nQiq4DXVHqNDMGmU/s1600/PC300256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyf87w_wS1WqYfvEy2M7A4FZJqaVFwi8TXQSpG_Z9AwGd_rBnLtdaIjpZP7Hndr5aBHfqAUwTXgBSXO7zyZW1jDCB3qB_w1pcKmDXSVIBYgWdGy-pP7iKgyrVg1d7nQiq4DXVHqNDMGmU/s1600/PC300256.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar mill ruins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>Bordeaux Mountain/Yawzi Point</b><br />
This run starts at Salt Pond Bay, but it can be shortened by driving to the trailhead just beyond the end of the road, but be prepared to bounce around in your vehicle and get some mud on it, which is fun too. While my family settled in at Salt Pond Beach, I ran back to the parking lot, and to the end of the road. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv6u9xv2HBZfR10PulbZvdx8UmBLAIEPQjNiQ6hWyJwWTeU1dydBuwcAIBCEmvlgMAd3ZYjbA9smaZHRz3RNPvkH5G2A40SyPEuf6W2GaO61irojEfz75jtJD5aNF8Jr6v8ODBtn77e1I/s1600/PC310308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv6u9xv2HBZfR10PulbZvdx8UmBLAIEPQjNiQ6hWyJwWTeU1dydBuwcAIBCEmvlgMAd3ZYjbA9smaZHRz3RNPvkH5G2A40SyPEuf6W2GaO61irojEfz75jtJD5aNF8Jr6v8ODBtn77e1I/s1600/PC310308.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom settling in at Salt Pond Beach while I play in the mountains beyond</td></tr>
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The road curves up and down some switchback hills, turns to gravel, turns to mud, and passes the Great and Little Lameshur beaches.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1N42XFp1jIELHNEgbC8AnDcCCvedulogEgtPVwLEit0U9Klz2WXYRmK1qd_X4z6VMbR31fTSal9NMi2u2zLWbID2feOvNPW_tf56E5lTwg7cax1yodk164tS_JpQ-Tri8kBDOiARksyM/s1600/DSCF0565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1N42XFp1jIELHNEgbC8AnDcCCvedulogEgtPVwLEit0U9Klz2WXYRmK1qd_X4z6VMbR31fTSal9NMi2u2zLWbID2feOvNPW_tf56E5lTwg7cax1yodk164tS_JpQ-Tri8kBDOiARksyM/s1600/DSCF0565.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At some cool ruins overlooking the beach, there's a small parking area and both the Lameshur Bay and Bordeaux Mountain trails begin, as well as several spur trails. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RGfNz0j6uvzw76m8Zi_x52XZFyN1SBM1Zbh4c90Mlo4nQB1aZiTHQkAPWJutmKboviNVizGnvWGp36omPYF1fpWwQQYOAetTGXPP_jhfz4-r_AMZxcDIDKvCW1ZgYbgcDjL17gOb7Wk/s1600/DSCF0567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RGfNz0j6uvzw76m8Zi_x52XZFyN1SBM1Zbh4c90Mlo4nQB1aZiTHQkAPWJutmKboviNVizGnvWGp36omPYF1fpWwQQYOAetTGXPP_jhfz4-r_AMZxcDIDKvCW1ZgYbgcDjL17gOb7Wk/s1600/DSCF0567.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
The Bordeaux Mountain Trail starts as a Jeep road to the turnoff to the Ranger Residence. Then it steeply climbs along a ridge for over a mile.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gPGc1_k3M3EwCgfdc1U66NJ9wxxuk0wHnoPAfSNjGe6hz-rNjhgtLGSfCeWxTRrKhv0nHAL5pMdnMsIFY59Ztg-EkAhtMhCfLe_a126pzxVx3ly1KR0MF8BQnP6ALQfNyjzUQOXVkZ8/s1600/DSCF0569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gPGc1_k3M3EwCgfdc1U66NJ9wxxuk0wHnoPAfSNjGe6hz-rNjhgtLGSfCeWxTRrKhv0nHAL5pMdnMsIFY59Ztg-EkAhtMhCfLe_a126pzxVx3ly1KR0MF8BQnP6ALQfNyjzUQOXVkZ8/s1600/DSCF0569.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The trail comes out on the Bordeaux Mountain Road. I followed this road to the right, but I now see if I would have gone left toward Centerline Road I would have hit the highest point on the island. I topped out near a house with views of Coral Bay, turned around, made friends with a dog protecting his driveway, and went back down the trail.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEq_mD37nAGZ8-D8UKDG2WBFFnIigjNw-4qakX61GjdJfPDIQFxZc8KgRVGGIlIMYw9ZntINbNE_2EF4ELN1D1-3CRuTUE8gB7xmhOM117IzfMqB1uLspePszOzWipKayGE9DDErlaII/s1600/DSCF0587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEq_mD37nAGZ8-D8UKDG2WBFFnIigjNw-4qakX61GjdJfPDIQFxZc8KgRVGGIlIMYw9ZntINbNE_2EF4ELN1D1-3CRuTUE8gB7xmhOM117IzfMqB1uLspePszOzWipKayGE9DDErlaII/s1600/DSCF0587.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turnaround</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNPUxiyDOxoHnJzAYI__ZSVh8aCuA7sUFWshRwOBvCQg1CIdQDpZaDjcRGtqfTKslfxSBEC-VUZangtsbQ44UwfNdfTQYM7tV_o7VKiYR0dJDtIBSuK9eHu9Y5nU7zXI_USeZI4EvzCE/s1600/DSCF0590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNPUxiyDOxoHnJzAYI__ZSVh8aCuA7sUFWshRwOBvCQg1CIdQDpZaDjcRGtqfTKslfxSBEC-VUZangtsbQ44UwfNdfTQYM7tV_o7VKiYR0dJDtIBSuK9eHu9Y5nU7zXI_USeZI4EvzCE/s1600/DSCF0590.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dog</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The way down offered many nice views of beaches and bays. I met a lady I had seen going the opposite way earlier. We both agreed it would have been a good idea to bring water along. She had been up much of the previous night drinking tequila.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApYc6Nd-t-5mblZAiuSqqj3LS9-E6qkspFmOarjaUaMVFtP0cWEUiYHYvq3TgVBi50LHt1tGofeYVcYwZCcrHEHP8DhdvK-7LqzOsWiotyap6n8BqixzdBn9_v6q-1S0wNQ_Fidw0WDA/s1600/DSCF0595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApYc6Nd-t-5mblZAiuSqqj3LS9-E6qkspFmOarjaUaMVFtP0cWEUiYHYvq3TgVBi50LHt1tGofeYVcYwZCcrHEHP8DhdvK-7LqzOsWiotyap6n8BqixzdBn9_v6q-1S0wNQ_Fidw0WDA/s1600/DSCF0595.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
At the bottom, I took the short Yawzi Point Trail to add a bit of mileage. It went through some huge pipe organ cactii to a point between Great and Little Lameshur Bays.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMuWZdanEt1xFUh2uAwWldhunxJk4ZSQKNgqzl2Pp8rfTSWFL7qnxELvYyOn_Zrgy7feh51sJ8HTSKYJGuS71lBX5gtrQcR1maJ-LXlb1WVHvVH-SnzI-yP7ih7X8TvA5MWk7MvzDzCE/s1600/DSCF0629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMuWZdanEt1xFUh2uAwWldhunxJk4ZSQKNgqzl2Pp8rfTSWFL7qnxELvYyOn_Zrgy7feh51sJ8HTSKYJGuS71lBX5gtrQcR1maJ-LXlb1WVHvVH-SnzI-yP7ih7X8TvA5MWk7MvzDzCE/s1600/DSCF0629.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pipe organ cactii</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF86aVGoNRHKl_D0RUBhyphenhyphenHyGCsl9k_VZv7nTXkLDKqFkeXRF-vzykOqTZGmjfRccFjxl4i8KTo7Km0rTLFRvf2Rrk8HkF-aKLkp_XXHWIF61Na5jjD3XLIuZimOSom5uuZjv4IKcrhgSY/s1600/DSCF0619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF86aVGoNRHKl_D0RUBhyphenhyphenHyGCsl9k_VZv7nTXkLDKqFkeXRF-vzykOqTZGmjfRccFjxl4i8KTo7Km0rTLFRvf2Rrk8HkF-aKLkp_XXHWIF61Na5jjD3XLIuZimOSom5uuZjv4IKcrhgSY/s1600/DSCF0619.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yawzi Point</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAzTZsdlPOfYOS8ouAj48JFRiJHNItL41wG8pjsttg4pybJ72htA-8DU7M6QNTLkio-Z0WJ6IZSu-TwOO-gsNpJi5tF1k1FGTxnqyXTkGhxzTxd4IU1aZrw4Gd2ubS4rpVhMdUanFclw/s1600/DSCF0624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAzTZsdlPOfYOS8ouAj48JFRiJHNItL41wG8pjsttg4pybJ72htA-8DU7M6QNTLkio-Z0WJ6IZSu-TwOO-gsNpJi5tF1k1FGTxnqyXTkGhxzTxd4IU1aZrw4Gd2ubS4rpVhMdUanFclw/s1600/DSCF0624.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yawzi Point</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The road back to Salt Pond got warm, but the swimming and snorkeling were, of course, wonderful. It's our favorite beach. Later, Lisa and I did the short walk from Salt Pond to Drunk Bay.<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Drunk Bay</b> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Apparently <i>drunkin</i> or something similar means <i>drowned</i> in Dutch and that's where the name comes from. Walking from Salt Pond Bay, turn left at the salt pond and follow its shore to Drunk Bay. Drunk Bay is full of coral people and animals, and we left one, just as we did last year.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-dtE82c4L6YBcM_KzPuIhHNMba2VAX0P8hJHrNR-UTtn2laWu2wWUnILQH9kYwXQ4YCizJ_GIqko04qXZ8-AcWCRj6Rm1lz_QVKRQ2ARKkiz5-NaJ1A2wI_xwECvgdYL432iPWg2cI8/s1600/PC310326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-dtE82c4L6YBcM_KzPuIhHNMba2VAX0P8hJHrNR-UTtn2laWu2wWUnILQH9kYwXQ4YCizJ_GIqko04qXZ8-AcWCRj6Rm1lz_QVKRQ2ARKkiz5-NaJ1A2wI_xwECvgdYL432iPWg2cI8/s1600/PC310326.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drunk Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6MflfJu0ux7Vi_rvwwt6JFVT2u_iQkcMfRbWKFmho6QOOpnSAwq_qOdyYSkW0Aj9ZIfkrjs9Ihfs64HFfICpcqjr5hAwbjI_B9qIcKUKg2YNqpMQ8oEaLXQneqr5EdLQRCgje2S_XIk/s1600/PC310336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj6MflfJu0ux7Vi_rvwwt6JFVT2u_iQkcMfRbWKFmho6QOOpnSAwq_qOdyYSkW0Aj9ZIfkrjs9Ihfs64HFfICpcqjr5hAwbjI_B9qIcKUKg2YNqpMQ8oEaLXQneqr5EdLQRCgje2S_XIk/s1600/PC310336.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drunk Bay mermaid</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DUwjbRcLg0Z61EWqynYWMDM3AJcRTYYd6SfMAMgvmf0Xh-Rb7e-K3Fbun4V0Qp5Bu5cmWX93MoX-w8LaZfANS6ow2oclgXFbMorxbCCsH-H2PSVl24k3pywWq4cfxn4glPn6geQlw9k/s1600/PC310342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8DUwjbRcLg0Z61EWqynYWMDM3AJcRTYYd6SfMAMgvmf0Xh-Rb7e-K3Fbun4V0Qp5Bu5cmWX93MoX-w8LaZfANS6ow2oclgXFbMorxbCCsH-H2PSVl24k3pywWq4cfxn4glPn6geQlw9k/s1600/PC310342.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drunk Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mAe1D4O74mcYTKQQGvVE6Qh13brgdBjKb2v4M3FjIMcSXU2ct2lZ4YFPVe6ledR0nQJ-4XsAIWe9xu5cAX3PisfCkTVoWKaEpvrgMiVLgHTlSvdggNJvbjkQ2zK_sqqzG-17HmzcjE0/s1600/PC310368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4mAe1D4O74mcYTKQQGvVE6Qh13brgdBjKb2v4M3FjIMcSXU2ct2lZ4YFPVe6ledR0nQJ-4XsAIWe9xu5cAX3PisfCkTVoWKaEpvrgMiVLgHTlSvdggNJvbjkQ2zK_sqqzG-17HmzcjE0/s1600/PC310368.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drunk Bay dog or pony</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9hUSa7RlKPyh2QuRGM8qjFAStcB95V8jCtGLRd12r8coUqmD9Ns2hHYZR-VEQz2r-R9W7gazCN8owmkFElSHZJNHqJXS4oJskujRYc4NgWgoPvdhSisWy-XDVcBEzyqALrXgPqDKohc/s1600/PC310320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9hUSa7RlKPyh2QuRGM8qjFAStcB95V8jCtGLRd12r8coUqmD9Ns2hHYZR-VEQz2r-R9W7gazCN8owmkFElSHZJNHqJXS4oJskujRYc4NgWgoPvdhSisWy-XDVcBEzyqALrXgPqDKohc/s1600/PC310320.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drunk Bay cairn</td></tr>
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<b> Catherineberg Road/L'Esperance</b> </div>
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The rest of my family was hitting either Trunk Bay or Cinnamon Bay, depending on crowds and parking, so I asked Lisa to drop me off and pick me up at the bottom of the Catherineberg Road, which is between those two beaches. I asked her to pick me up in two hours and I started my watch. The Catherineberg Road isn't much of a road, and it's listed on the trails map, so traffic wasn't an issue. The road is dirt/gravel,<b> </b>but the switchback curves are paved. It climbs steeply at first and goes by some fancy gated homes. After 1.5 miles of steep climbing, I saw the ruins of a sugar mill, and shortly after, Centerline Road.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09sqjfPY4VBisk3JVqviXTjL04fiZ5H6r33H1xjFgszUWu3NuMF3Guwx9DuVU1e6wuAM00fwf6NTPDxyI3Vr3e2mKSQn7lkCNGRnoTcLptxDk3RY27EXcnl6h3iNGaBsV0HcPULb5zPs/s1600/IMG_0525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09sqjfPY4VBisk3JVqviXTjL04fiZ5H6r33H1xjFgszUWu3NuMF3Guwx9DuVU1e6wuAM00fwf6NTPDxyI3Vr3e2mKSQn7lkCNGRnoTcLptxDk3RY27EXcnl6h3iNGaBsV0HcPULb5zPs/s1600/IMG_0525.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar mill near Centerline Road</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I ran a short distance east on Centerline, less than a hundred yards, and found the L'Esperance Trail that goes down the south side of the island to the Reef Bay Sugar Mill. The L'Esperance Ruins are worth checking out, and there is a grave behind the house.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30sD8v2Go5ERWFUCjWgoR1U_gDNs6W6ouDh0RwiXd4CSJVhuOsvGu7Nn3pDEFT6iGvx25hylawx0Mn-kA019wOaIYUSRM4YXXtMRgsCDfZu8cqD43hsk2eQsAgmijYSGEJ0h5_Ko42fE/s1600/IMG_0505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30sD8v2Go5ERWFUCjWgoR1U_gDNs6W6ouDh0RwiXd4CSJVhuOsvGu7Nn3pDEFT6iGvx25hylawx0Mn-kA019wOaIYUSRM4YXXtMRgsCDfZu8cqD43hsk2eQsAgmijYSGEJ0h5_Ko42fE/s1600/IMG_0505.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Sommer, DOD 15 Sept 1864</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1GVCl0NmmDoGTED_RRzHWlzf8GavkbVfHpM7WbTCud1ksTQyGFMEV3keziX31SmMdcI8RZyRipTe-nkjokOao5xtKUyIpavVCTpZU7NF7jygz-xFunrNGs7UiZ2iQ24kIwOiu7I8XhI/s1600/IMG_0504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1GVCl0NmmDoGTED_RRzHWlzf8GavkbVfHpM7WbTCud1ksTQyGFMEV3keziX31SmMdcI8RZyRipTe-nkjokOao5xtKUyIpavVCTpZU7NF7jygz-xFunrNGs7UiZ2iQ24kIwOiu7I8XhI/s1600/IMG_0504.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L'Esperance</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The way down toward Reef Bay was lovely single-track trail, mostly mellow descent. I missed the spur to the Sieben ruins, which is where you can find the only Baobab tree on the island. I could hear the waves of Reef Bay when I decided to turn around. I had been running 1h 10m and had 50 minutes to make it back. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGBZlbjMgKlKWklk6SN3riNIGziyzQKuDfKNFmh6zvLfpVixYtiTgFpgsN9bMU0qhI2zVmid7VGPCGRy3Jy5X306kDw3KlPxzP0EZg8FcgXXPOJ-7D8Ev6-nvkbsG1psiyJPYNg-h5tbc/s1600/IMG_0518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGBZlbjMgKlKWklk6SN3riNIGziyzQKuDfKNFmh6zvLfpVixYtiTgFpgsN9bMU0qhI2zVmid7VGPCGRy3Jy5X306kDw3KlPxzP0EZg8FcgXXPOJ-7D8Ev6-nvkbsG1psiyJPYNg-h5tbc/s1600/IMG_0518.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L'Esperance Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The L'Esperance Trail connects to the Reef Bay Trail at Genti Bay, and one could easily make a big loop that hits both the north and south shores using the Cinnamon Bay and Catherineberg trails on the north side. This gives me one more reason to go back.</div>
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<br />
<b>Ram Head Full Moon Guided Hike</b><br />
This is another hike we arranged through the Friends of the Park. Our guide, Jennifer, is a landscape architect and her knowledge and passion for local botany is impressive. The hike to Ram Head isn't super long, about 3 miles round trip from the Salt Pond parking lot where the group met. We had been told to bring flashlights, but they really weren't necessary.<br />
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Ram Head is the southeast tip of the island, a place escaped slaves came to hide out and live. It was a lovely night with a bright moon and views of the south shore and many other island and I tried to imagine what this place felt like to those people, living by the light of the moon and stars, living in fear of being recaptured, holding tight to this momentary freedom.<br />
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<b>Lameshur Bay Trail</b><b></b><br />
This run began just like the Bordeaux Mountain run, starting from Salt Pond Bay (I told you it's our favorite beach) and going past the end of the road to the trailhead. This trail goes all the way to the Reef Bay Trail and connects near the spur trails to the petroglyphs and Reef Bay Great House. The climbing here is mostly gradual, the views amazing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKAHoAgdDvo2fPnUf1sfvnlKQAQetEblODQ3sqzgH_gjjlkhUtQ2dPxjZVzvU4P6Jx3WazZFKNUVoRMsA1Cn4oyC3riVgIbTLjmCRKb_EPgmP-qfHobsGui0de2Nlo0haALexUm0ZZjkw/s1600/IMGP2339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKAHoAgdDvo2fPnUf1sfvnlKQAQetEblODQ3sqzgH_gjjlkhUtQ2dPxjZVzvU4P6Jx3WazZFKNUVoRMsA1Cn4oyC3riVgIbTLjmCRKb_EPgmP-qfHobsGui0de2Nlo0haALexUm0ZZjkw/s1600/IMGP2339.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsM8HEpsmFn-VjTp95oyf2W0_zT4EIuCxUS5-O9zFIDnGpDL9iUyU5ViHBYQNzgPvneixGpI4qDAmSQ3ChqDZQ0iFrOP8rNAKgVVPZW0LDe0PXqlyWWyvZwXNzTvGRN0CifOecT-1Tkuk/s1600/IMGP2342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsM8HEpsmFn-VjTp95oyf2W0_zT4EIuCxUS5-O9zFIDnGpDL9iUyU5ViHBYQNzgPvneixGpI4qDAmSQ3ChqDZQ0iFrOP8rNAKgVVPZW0LDe0PXqlyWWyvZwXNzTvGRN0CifOecT-1Tkuk/s1600/IMGP2342.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bromeliads are everywhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ytaHbBbH2sZqabjF1cPxZ_Z9QJ-eVc0EXyBSPwLkorNXHuSjvB2kM7euzMXm-__cnr6C2_EKbpAk82hykeZorH17YMDMHV5gBFHt408BzL9O3HEKhaemC8UpES6R9PyZsqr8wliVCOs/s1600/IMGP2348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ytaHbBbH2sZqabjF1cPxZ_Z9QJ-eVc0EXyBSPwLkorNXHuSjvB2kM7euzMXm-__cnr6C2_EKbpAk82hykeZorH17YMDMHV5gBFHt408BzL9O3HEKhaemC8UpES6R9PyZsqr8wliVCOs/s1600/IMGP2348.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvLIhevwzdVWPlC49eTs2ECof7foj8b1_FyVUQC3kXSKYE6ckAE_YUMi7RwORVmUg-ri5jykJJSfSz9bIbIzrjOXZYyS71qEW7e4AqFNfpEvw0mtTq5BGI5xPaHf36wXGZHiZNvr2718/s1600/IMGP2357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinvLIhevwzdVWPlC49eTs2ECof7foj8b1_FyVUQC3kXSKYE6ckAE_YUMi7RwORVmUg-ri5jykJJSfSz9bIbIzrjOXZYyS71qEW7e4AqFNfpEvw0mtTq5BGI5xPaHf36wXGZHiZNvr2718/s1600/IMGP2357.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lameshur Bay Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkcR9h4jd4cVvPMKdCv3RA54LNjAtBPsxOZ_qzmCHzsCmC8qQRPdoYy4UVpjSLCM1e9mVAZ7361bzRAYqrmyd-_lBIZo7LhGBfrZ7obD6BwhLs3RMP66Q33V6QQZEXosaO0bjNqIadX8/s1600/IMGP2364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkcR9h4jd4cVvPMKdCv3RA54LNjAtBPsxOZ_qzmCHzsCmC8qQRPdoYy4UVpjSLCM1e9mVAZ7361bzRAYqrmyd-_lBIZo7LhGBfrZ7obD6BwhLs3RMP66Q33V6QQZEXosaO0bjNqIadX8/s1600/IMGP2364.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great Lameshur and Little Lameshur Bays</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHN80w6qUvMVLvqj3imEN3bSCThRk7V_VNjHYZW2cdMyoQu4rFBOFa31teLcDBzVeNk3t7qZkk1owaDpwHA0orpqckoz7CjgoIZlubxZUHkwsnY34KaTLGTnQ6bJZat_lnrd5cXVEyKI/s1600/IMGP2368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHN80w6qUvMVLvqj3imEN3bSCThRk7V_VNjHYZW2cdMyoQu4rFBOFa31teLcDBzVeNk3t7qZkk1owaDpwHA0orpqckoz7CjgoIZlubxZUHkwsnY34KaTLGTnQ6bJZat_lnrd5cXVEyKI/s1600/IMGP2368.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Badass tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWZgFT9RLxQIs4CJNtrggtP4YgXW17PAz9hNyffgA9hxPrA-edYft0eFYPKOLOT_LdTm7OSLEna6uQSIrYeTBhYXnBX_WIsAJ8TtP0Wnhvhy1NzKmXcHpLrPP4BsxY1haRnLUftDKV3k/s1600/IMGP2376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWZgFT9RLxQIs4CJNtrggtP4YgXW17PAz9hNyffgA9hxPrA-edYft0eFYPKOLOT_LdTm7OSLEna6uQSIrYeTBhYXnBX_WIsAJ8TtP0Wnhvhy1NzKmXcHpLrPP4BsxY1haRnLUftDKV3k/s1600/IMGP2376.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice view, Lameshur Bay ruins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-41376286659701105102014-11-13T12:43:00.002-08:002014-11-13T14:03:47.501-08:00Celebrating the Art of Lisa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It may have started when she was a child, dressing her younger brother Eric as a pretty lady. She has spent years developing her skills. Lisa's unique talent combines photography, animal training, costume design, creativity, and holiday cheer. I don't know if there's a specific name for it, but it's definitely her thing. She owns it and does it better than anyone else. Following is a photo celebration of her talent.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/29879_414534143337_1769723_n.jpg?oh=7d75706cb18e090b92115164cb909b40&oe=551F3532" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" class="spotlight" height="240" src="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/29879_414534143337_1769723_n.jpg?oh=7d75706cb18e090b92115164cb909b40&oe=551F3532" style="height: 540px; width: 720px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willie Nelson, Cinco de Mayo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0FhHq2JFbP8aIgpm-FozfonUJN5qyNfyCwdQUEpheP45MUCW7vyBBd-lWXLY2ZgJQvQDm-p4AVzQh2bLPUfh3D0-2h54LKKHeTq4lm4kEmPoqnUQS5ZyWo8IVkYrc8fyx6jFwHEs1uM/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0FhHq2JFbP8aIgpm-FozfonUJN5qyNfyCwdQUEpheP45MUCW7vyBBd-lWXLY2ZgJQvQDm-p4AVzQh2bLPUfh3D0-2h54LKKHeTq4lm4kEmPoqnUQS5ZyWo8IVkYrc8fyx6jFwHEs1uM/s320/IMG_0010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oscar, Halloween piglet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQLg5rbIrY0gikHGUmslmjwtb_cg88jnQVqY0rY6Ung-DzYGr9ZbOR68pMfxWOgkX1PEL17hOYTmpXkHEi_Nek6Y-w205c44E-50QewCx43EZFwlQOST1UUT-0hxNuJQzKuQRxgjuMds/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQLg5rbIrY0gikHGUmslmjwtb_cg88jnQVqY0rY6Ung-DzYGr9ZbOR68pMfxWOgkX1PEL17hOYTmpXkHEi_Nek6Y-w205c44E-50QewCx43EZFwlQOST1UUT-0hxNuJQzKuQRxgjuMds/s320/IMG_0001.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Piglet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" class="spotlight" height="320" src="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/1959724_10152346881073338_182399707_n.jpg?oh=33f4051fa9cf61e216b3e480117abef8&oe=54D91D1F" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Saint Patrick's Day from Barney</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" class="spotlight" height="477" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/1915258_206288828337_4360994_n.jpg?oh=9612b1f71c88f24dbc7fc33167931313&oe=551D4AD2&__gda__=1424265779_57cf4feaa511fd5ed841c65e13ff80e7" style="height: 97px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 130px;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween Barney</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/22768_300281813337_1058773_n.jpg?oh=ad6efa38e6c5e68400877435d1803bc6&oe=54D721EF&__gda__=1428032791_c080b5b720570a68e70ebfc649e35e49" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 551px;" width="310" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valentine's Day, Barney and Willie Nelson</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/36735_436364503337_424947_n.jpg?oh=01d65ff05f9dee6d391c6ffb7ea0b89b&oe=54DCBC27&__gda__=1424302082_dca954849f418368bc737552dd6ee7cf" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 426px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barney, Memorial Day </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/1464738_770101943015963_93919756_n.jpg?oh=b078f275a684cdfbdbc3a21b571f8f89&oe=54DB9CC9" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 757px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barney and Goat with Christmas lights</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7xjF_DeKH3wOH3QV1lCobWYrnCGOO9GrgTB6GrjGpAkguFG0LHLCaoPzJaHEQgKAMnz6lhBphcfUQykNfvEZWipRwIWF96temUKxFUNIJfs7x-UEm2MQZEHboWBmSJly6IbjOCZzLwI/s1600/IMG_2263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7xjF_DeKH3wOH3QV1lCobWYrnCGOO9GrgTB6GrjGpAkguFG0LHLCaoPzJaHEQgKAMnz6lhBphcfUQykNfvEZWipRwIWF96temUKxFUNIJfs7x-UEm2MQZEHboWBmSJly6IbjOCZzLwI/s320/IMG_2263.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little and Barney, Halloween ghosts (not Klansmen)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/10502050_10152604643403338_1918217172387851686_n.jpg?oh=801e0e12a34ff3b7655d2a7047c28416&oe=54E839B8" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 757px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barney and Little, Fourth of July</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-b-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/10363942_10152527217088338_5412884055525868409_n.jpg?oh=1e6e696ed73d1c49c46784e122a722d6&oe=551FFCFB" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 480px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Running Day</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV48vmWcAY5QG8irmzEflxwySazg90Ms-QThvcknlU113UjVGkmlqNLn4LnhbaKuMg6rYc4WhI-eJcA1xa2ktU7lbC0V08Cma28Nvsv8Dsovq2BDRO5iAkjRtu4dQkbXBUvBS4Ws5zGzE/s1600/IMG_7728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV48vmWcAY5QG8irmzEflxwySazg90Ms-QThvcknlU113UjVGkmlqNLn4LnhbaKuMg6rYc4WhI-eJcA1xa2ktU7lbC0V08Cma28Nvsv8Dsovq2BDRO5iAkjRtu4dQkbXBUvBS4Ws5zGzE/s320/IMG_7728.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Running Day</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i-K3PrryhaAqT-xLmZ-NC9SCwnZfYF-cs1UIlKp2wrmTZgD3CEBPlRFnhbNO0S7BHEcTjOOb_v73OkzAXfi6nBuRH2oRB0947kDqvljBqU-4CZF1zxsY9kfCflu1qA-HZlFAJ1AxJjI/s1600/IMG_5502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i-K3PrryhaAqT-xLmZ-NC9SCwnZfYF-cs1UIlKp2wrmTZgD3CEBPlRFnhbNO0S7BHEcTjOOb_v73OkzAXfi6nBuRH2oRB0947kDqvljBqU-4CZF1zxsY9kfCflu1qA-HZlFAJ1AxJjI/s320/IMG_5502.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know that there is a holiday for what's happening here.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEish_P_7pNiJhpW-9gjX4W8jbayPKEOzd9OHbCKp6R8h_ErKVAIhVwE-qgdgjiX9zanH8tcVhDDjn-MITEy6qZCRymoyjz6CYMi7ZT42WT5fi_grxsYhKl7S1IdQQipvrdzRyWqhyphenhypheniXjj4/s1600/IMG_5891.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEish_P_7pNiJhpW-9gjX4W8jbayPKEOzd9OHbCKp6R8h_ErKVAIhVwE-qgdgjiX9zanH8tcVhDDjn-MITEy6qZCRymoyjz6CYMi7ZT42WT5fi_grxsYhKl7S1IdQQipvrdzRyWqhyphenhypheniXjj4/s320/IMG_5891.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her Little Christmas elf</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipbfBnYij8IpSTHuJikYjNYQzFoJ2uTRVnQVEeLZ4EcGtlTnVwVFTIK1HHwMFxkynZOLKf3c5Gz1tyyBBhsqehLRyZQpFT2SdFVipoKO6mWghXGDmwLYsVveMYUt1GIpKUjBGhCyB0sOg/s1600/IMG_6146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipbfBnYij8IpSTHuJikYjNYQzFoJ2uTRVnQVEeLZ4EcGtlTnVwVFTIK1HHwMFxkynZOLKf3c5Gz1tyyBBhsqehLRyZQpFT2SdFVipoKO6mWghXGDmwLYsVveMYUt1GIpKUjBGhCyB0sOg/s320/IMG_6146.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Dawgs</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-83i3jH2K6KR3Lf8rz-epkEHWW_8clT-dXDWGXv_NnhHQZR9IfZJE_nI3aTcORcN6dplNb7-inf3vBMoZ5dwcdFYjiBDia-yJZR8CSracxg_Uq3bHWTxOof4zLOIQpsKgkK3ymX3vSM/s1600/IMG_8414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-83i3jH2K6KR3Lf8rz-epkEHWW_8clT-dXDWGXv_NnhHQZR9IfZJE_nI3aTcORcN6dplNb7-inf3vBMoZ5dwcdFYjiBDia-yJZR8CSracxg_Uq3bHWTxOof4zLOIQpsKgkK3ymX3vSM/s320/IMG_8414.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy birthday Jacob!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnL4tayRMT9oYqJ2jF7GPa_N8zvxWZf2A9taht7jan8SNb0EW5YRSjfSB8CfVfb5868NzKDpYfkCi3pFE2qn44TsVm9Hb_wJF5y99LiYOsZ_pbIwEFIHIx_51S3LoysToNhSnAoCR0ss/s1600/IMG_9805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnL4tayRMT9oYqJ2jF7GPa_N8zvxWZf2A9taht7jan8SNb0EW5YRSjfSB8CfVfb5868NzKDpYfkCi3pFE2qn44TsVm9Hb_wJF5y99LiYOsZ_pbIwEFIHIx_51S3LoysToNhSnAoCR0ss/s320/IMG_9805.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Punkin'</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcryeeRcO5iAp2n_yvfUz_hXYsR7v8WcLv14h7fO9jJpU0DGe8wPZkfntwZn-39R6aIXwxeVWXnXSawB7f7TZ8IHWEZ773S0GANPvD7RENLuoI_BDsCkWhlFaF6_3k14j4gx3jjLe9cU/s1600/IMG_9905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcryeeRcO5iAp2n_yvfUz_hXYsR7v8WcLv14h7fO9jJpU0DGe8wPZkfntwZn-39R6aIXwxeVWXnXSawB7f7TZ8IHWEZ773S0GANPvD7RENLuoI_BDsCkWhlFaF6_3k14j4gx3jjLe9cU/s320/IMG_9905.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doggiegators</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaS995j3rcAk1RPUt3EwK4dyjLAldJn9qciHWT-FDqOOKtcop1k9JSGLIhBkrcZXN8c0CJIOSuodieoZyyH5d-IiVMW2_g7cg3IaZ2HFbOdcpp5msVQR7HNkcrZzB5Ux_QKcNYrNAqoQ/s1600/IMG_9879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaS995j3rcAk1RPUt3EwK4dyjLAldJn9qciHWT-FDqOOKtcop1k9JSGLIhBkrcZXN8c0CJIOSuodieoZyyH5d-IiVMW2_g7cg3IaZ2HFbOdcpp5msVQR7HNkcrZzB5Ux_QKcNYrNAqoQ/s320/IMG_9879.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Supes and Batdog</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-b-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/1506821_10152420558943338_1276040601633884561_n.jpg?oh=89914ede839ded23ad505e35ff032308&oe=54D69B94" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 426px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter Little</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/10154078_10152380042998338_887228087_n.jpg?oh=c346c856ec0f6912997b874009d5a50a&oe=54D4796C" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 426px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her talents are hereditary. Jake (and my mom) dressed Little in food coloring for Saint Patrick's Day (and the following summer).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/1452014_10152107388423338_1340534656_n.jpg?oh=a43afdbff30924e54ea5b24e1fec38d9&oe=54DEB1E9" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 566px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving Turkey (that's really Barney in a costume, not a turkey)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/v/t1.0-9/601557_10151576719853338_1856874174_n.jpg?oh=5660a815b8b36395b8d95bdf4608fbed&oe=551BF0CB&__gda__=1427913988_a8a4b28e2860cf06a3832e486531497d" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 402px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't know how she got his eyes so green too.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/389393_10150518037093338_839400568_n.jpg?oh=08a3afd82ce916bf3e8172638949f643&oe=551E4ACA&__gda__=1424400893_b0de358e4ba5aa12edc04802d3b34ee5" style="height: 568px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 424px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe Christmas</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1EBYcixszVvWts-7OcYuWComIvpUMsM2W6omowhfvJZeOFszi92OE4ZHipji7n9HnMkdFTcB5vkcrHURyPV12lkV1j8mRTRMFzbph7_eh9Fq5cGC7V8ikXdZjls_yM6bQ9gOEWfYntgM/s1600/IMG_9873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1EBYcixszVvWts-7OcYuWComIvpUMsM2W6omowhfvJZeOFszi92OE4ZHipji7n9HnMkdFTcB5vkcrHURyPV12lkV1j8mRTRMFzbph7_eh9Fq5cGC7V8ikXdZjls_yM6bQ9gOEWfYntgM/s320/IMG_9873.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afrobarney</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://scontent-a-ord.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/76594_487386783337_3869887_n.jpg?oh=68a0781833ac93f9a57f7085772d5c9e&oe=551A43CA" style="height: 453px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 604px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ladybug Lola, niece dog</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/73625_487452648337_4052233_n.jpg?oh=eef77b712f536a7ece4461ff1f4e8cd9&oe=551CD885&__gda__=1427858971_d274e3099305bad8c5877ebd077178b5" style="height: 540px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 720px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes she dresses herself up, to get the boys inspired.</td></tr>
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Some people comment that the dogs look embarrassed or ashamed. But they love her sessions. For the most part. They get lots to eat during these shoots. They feel special and get attention. Barney and Little come running to the door whenever she brings new costume ideas home, ready to try out the latest trendsetting designs. Maybe someday she'll get a wall in a museum or a coffee table book to celebrate her work. For now, she gets the appreciation and loving adoration of the internet and four boys (Kevin, Jake, Barney, Little Dog)</div>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-88178835903884330882014-09-10T11:36:00.002-07:002014-09-18T10:22:33.052-07:00Superior 100 2014<span id="goog_1535895265"><span id="goog_1535895269"></span><span id="goog_1535895270"></span></span><span id="goog_1535895266"></span><span id="goog_1535895263"></span><span id="goog_1535895264"></span><span id="goog_1535895259"></span><span id="goog_1535895260"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWhvW-zv32A2yUoeTxEesZRajO3WEx2UoAwRL21tcIBe2FFk8UsbZhMTOik_brIj4OoxXm-wUTt-xkDP-iwsImKmmcrQtFAG5p8cwnkS9lE8usSmypHQzc1c9M5qYZbRRMpF6_2pcreVo/s1600/buckle.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWhvW-zv32A2yUoeTxEesZRajO3WEx2UoAwRL21tcIBe2FFk8UsbZhMTOik_brIj4OoxXm-wUTt-xkDP-iwsImKmmcrQtFAG5p8cwnkS9lE8usSmypHQzc1c9M5qYZbRRMpF6_2pcreVo/s1600/buckle.jpeg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Prologue:</b> My first encounter with the Superior 100: Eight years ago, I'm backpacking southbound along the Superior Hiking Trail in September. At a couple trailheads I notice these white canvas shelters. Underneath them, a folding table, a closed plastic bin or two with food inside (bananas), some containers of water and something like gatorade. By the way, my memory isn't the best. I spent years trying to destroy it--it's spotty and I confuse details and numbers. I camp beside a river, maybe the Cross River, or the Onion, and I wake in the morning to footfalls of runners on the nearby trail. Most have come by in the darkness. I watch some pass. I've run all my life. I offer encouragement and feel a kinship and awe. Some look fresh, like they're out for a Saturday morning stroll. Others look bloody, muddy, beat up and determined. I talk to the sweeps for a few minutes, although I have no idea they're called sweeps. I ask lots of bullet fast questions, and then they're on their way, carrying flags and water, lots of water, it seems. I'm newly sober. I love running. I love backpacking remote trails. My world opens up a little. I'll come back eventually.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjorqs2NajL2DsaLgC1dRH8f9kX_TYL7Z5urYuyR40g4I1OWiz-xZrCRsrEXL_v1rD-q9wXq2_4sk8YGG7hw1UDy26orSoWppUX4eqrhKZqvIRB1EZrv2tv77DCHVAUM5ZC_zXxutcktDs/s1600/P9040303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjorqs2NajL2DsaLgC1dRH8f9kX_TYL7Z5urYuyR40g4I1OWiz-xZrCRsrEXL_v1rD-q9wXq2_4sk8YGG7hw1UDy26orSoWppUX4eqrhKZqvIRB1EZrv2tv77DCHVAUM5ZC_zXxutcktDs/s1600/P9040303.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the prerace meeting, last year's winners, John Horns and April Cole, two supernice people, chatting on the right. </td></tr>
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<b>Prerun: </b>My dad joins me for the prerace meeting in Two Harbors. We get there early. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyEJzEmdnlq3FJj31uhBl0yI3JFekLVYRwg1O0bNwfOcGPzJ23Utc6MBnuEw5u5rEDDKKPCPYN6Bu-ocxSfrFl3NBN1CLCfrlfTYn6A9MDJDrkKpviUCfQyxXsNh8KlnXZT3mzbfm6l0/s1600/IMG_9137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeyEJzEmdnlq3FJj31uhBl0yI3JFekLVYRwg1O0bNwfOcGPzJ23Utc6MBnuEw5u5rEDDKKPCPYN6Bu-ocxSfrFl3NBN1CLCfrlfTYn6A9MDJDrkKpviUCfQyxXsNh8KlnXZT3mzbfm6l0/s1600/IMG_9137.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Storkamps put on the best running parties in the midwest and they seem to have a blast doing it.</td></tr>
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It's fun to see people. Like Jason Husveth, who I met while running this last year. We had leapfrogged each other through the night and ran together most of the morning and early afternoon. During the run we learned we have much in common. We kept in touch. We trained together on the trail some this year too. Dude's like a brother.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcktBBd_n25ci8Pp3o1QkfMHpPlJqy2lSEn5dbzrrhCuw2ykJk3Sjj6eOu9YsgEEZSFC_hALYweeLrh3or__1e1pFHt908jMJgpuyTLlblw1JA599TlTiZNtBJPg2JMeGrVtspYqAiew/s1600/P9040299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcktBBd_n25ci8Pp3o1QkfMHpPlJqy2lSEn5dbzrrhCuw2ykJk3Sjj6eOu9YsgEEZSFC_hALYweeLrh3or__1e1pFHt908jMJgpuyTLlblw1JA599TlTiZNtBJPg2JMeGrVtspYqAiew/s1600/P9040299.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husveth and Storkamp</td></tr>
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I meet Ian Corless. He travels the world reporting on ultraraces. He seems like a supernice guy, and a great photographer too. Most people I meet at these things seem supernice. He'll be all over this race, taking pictures, interviewing--I'll even see him working aid stations.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Y1D_ilBDg_R_2m6qn4HOCcJJQhVon3y1IydI-Dml8bxsaTIyqt7UX1OhzgvEK2nsgfejfLJjDqwdmXdM5MWVz19ZcVfEHk5fLzCZrjmaWz1u9ARDw2MWUhwMS5nbsVowDd26buI1K6U/s1600/P9040297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Y1D_ilBDg_R_2m6qn4HOCcJJQhVon3y1IydI-Dml8bxsaTIyqt7UX1OhzgvEK2nsgfejfLJjDqwdmXdM5MWVz19ZcVfEHk5fLzCZrjmaWz1u9ARDw2MWUhwMS5nbsVowDd26buI1K6U/s1600/P9040297.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Langton and Corless</td></tr>
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We stay at Chateau Laveaux near Tofte. My posse includes Lisa, which my bib number notes is my "awesome hot wife," my parents, and Melissa, a family friend. The night before the race, I get a call from son Jake. It's great to visit with him. He wishes me luck. It feels good. Really good.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfO8SFICZ01yOYPpU3kRLb28T-54BSTM4E1ixTeVQiuJZMSsvqnf7GpXSdrr-tGap1k4nyR94NrRjoguQgHEdZqQ1CKm_xvkQm43tToCE5D6TcfPtTWtyffv5W1xsGf9VJHwIuKDxX88/s1600/IMG_9154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfO8SFICZ01yOYPpU3kRLb28T-54BSTM4E1ixTeVQiuJZMSsvqnf7GpXSdrr-tGap1k4nyR94NrRjoguQgHEdZqQ1CKm_xvkQm43tToCE5D6TcfPtTWtyffv5W1xsGf9VJHwIuKDxX88/s1600/IMG_9154.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Langton ready to gogogo! </td></tr>
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I think I'm ready for this. I've piled on winter and summer miles, mostly single-track. I've run several long races throughout the season, all with the ultimate goal of Superior in mind. My head and spirit are in good places--my therapist even let me out of our session early this week. I'm centered, like a solid yellow line on the middle of the road, and the call from Jake last night helped put me inside the paint.</div>
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It doesn't take long to get started. I'm standing by TJ, who I've been running with some, on his easy days, and Matt, who traveled here with us last year. It's TJ's first hundred and I know he'll do great. I'm as excited for his race as I am for mine. So much energy and excitement at the start.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwxaQNY-Fk9fYCnosE6XrArySH4Y5EXqqfAigeG8z5cIXXIdNJrY8z5i4lSw1nwEyKBIPYgXdtEXZ4KuV1U8cymzR9vGXhRuk7W3ZufCz-mEN5w5DLsA2NdwhCaME9j8sK0L8ra2nO8A/s1600/IMG_9152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwxaQNY-Fk9fYCnosE6XrArySH4Y5EXqqfAigeG8z5cIXXIdNJrY8z5i4lSw1nwEyKBIPYgXdtEXZ4KuV1U8cymzR9vGXhRuk7W3ZufCz-mEN5w5DLsA2NdwhCaME9j8sK0L8ra2nO8A/s1600/IMG_9152.JPG" height="240" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TJ, me, Matt doing our best to represent Mankato, even though Matt moved away now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This race can be brutal, but the weather is great and the first section is runnable but crowded at times. My focus is to breathe through my nose as much as possible to keep a reasonable pace, and to not expend energy jockeying around other runners. To focus on running at my comfort level. I'm following my adaptation of Jason Husveth's rule of "do no harm" in the early parts. My limited experience in these things has taught me that I can do loads of damage early by running stupid. Nothing really matters in the first 40.</div>
<br />
My goals:<br />
<br />
1. Finish<br />
2. Stay positive and spread it.<br />
3. Don't linger in aid stations.<br />
4. Eat real food.<br />
5. Move well through the night.<br />
6. Have as much fun as possible. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't have much of a time goal in mind because every trail is different. It's like what they say about standing in the same river twice. Last year I ran a 36:17 here. This year the weather's cooler (yay!), and the course is muddier, much muddier. Different river, but I know I can best that time if I don't fall apart. See, the legs standing in the river are different too.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkJOhTdkFFjK7FxHVEjNr0z6tVHy85oe1aYf7_X5Bnc5nFiU1mlG3Gjx6l0rkDjGdMMNlZ5UzNscOUD-dWk3fEzTQwNF-JinHFTXstYSDHtjw1AYRzLspEoUX4lsH3VxSVT202Lv3rMM/s1600/IMG_9164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkJOhTdkFFjK7FxHVEjNr0z6tVHy85oe1aYf7_X5Bnc5nFiU1mlG3Gjx6l0rkDjGdMMNlZ5UzNscOUD-dWk3fEzTQwNF-JinHFTXstYSDHtjw1AYRzLspEoUX4lsH3VxSVT202Lv3rMM/s1600/IMG_9164.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa had some race rules for me too. Number 1 means no pity parties, I think.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>The Run:</b><br />
<br />
I have to pee as soon as we start.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Split Rock comes fast, with lots of feet in front of me most of the way.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I run behind a guy who introduces himself as Chris Hanson. Later, I realize that I followed the same guy last year along the same river. Crazy. Last year that had been too fast for me. This year, it's comfortable. Assertive perhaps, but comfortable. Nice guy with good race experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDov5XoVNtUqCLCiGETDKfNqDWibo3PFDmcUsJ8IapmmJ0jRa365eDVXrNDqjHI3S_tP0KJ8Bo1xT1r4Ng-sXRVOkMQbEvUzuP6iB4d4gLEA63gFC4bseyGElu0Mmmy44K_-ye7hlCSJ0/s1600/IMGP1894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDov5XoVNtUqCLCiGETDKfNqDWibo3PFDmcUsJ8IapmmJ0jRa365eDVXrNDqjHI3S_tP0KJ8Bo1xT1r4Ng-sXRVOkMQbEvUzuP6iB4d4gLEA63gFC4bseyGElu0Mmmy44K_-ye7hlCSJ0/s1600/IMGP1894.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marcus Taintor across the Split Rock River</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Split Rock Aid Station is crowded, so I simply grab a cup of water and eat a Gu packet walking back up the hill to the trail. It's one of two gels I will eat through the run. I've become a big fan of Tailwind nutrition. It seemed to work for me at Black Hills and Beaverhead this year. I hope it works here too.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lots of sweat. It's humid. Makes the cool breezes even better, especially after climbs.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5j5IDEoLEVZm3y-DPOR_IpH3uZ4_kLOA4sNBJeZOZHLmtsfVf0XyzMgAjPkkfZ701_dC7CCvTTKJWolL6ME7lOdbEsIKYw0qqIeJT0z1xx_uNS18H3mjNKjRMDORExkvFwuaMp23lm4Q/s1600/IMGP1905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5j5IDEoLEVZm3y-DPOR_IpH3uZ4_kLOA4sNBJeZOZHLmtsfVf0XyzMgAjPkkfZ701_dC7CCvTTKJWolL6ME7lOdbEsIKYw0qqIeJT0z1xx_uNS18H3mjNKjRMDORExkvFwuaMp23lm4Q/s1600/IMGP1905.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Aspens bent all askew as if the hillside had bedhead.</div>
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A fresh shirt at Beaver Bay. </div>
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That lovely sprawl of Silver Bay skyline.</div>
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<br />
Meeting Pearl, the English Bulldog, at Silver Bay. Aid station dogs do wonders for my spirits.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Is this where Robyn Reed has a plate of bacon? That's good bacon. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
A cold can of Coke and the sugar hits fast like an airplane taking off. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qOGgHaiqRT_E1gdjAw1tR9lCYQlf2Nq1cQ9ydd3W1RIwXEWHcoDmOIDRhPlMcWz3AJjJXk25KPV1wMv3Ru55El6NvOjbCtLP7JMS2WR0rekx9ark_MHz8GGI73lrMSNS9MHbxDHggwM/s1600/IMGP1910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qOGgHaiqRT_E1gdjAw1tR9lCYQlf2Nq1cQ9ydd3W1RIwXEWHcoDmOIDRhPlMcWz3AJjJXk25KPV1wMv3Ru55El6NvOjbCtLP7JMS2WR0rekx9ark_MHz8GGI73lrMSNS9MHbxDHggwM/s1600/IMGP1910.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The gift of breezes at Bean and Bear Lakes, and Mount Trudee.</div>
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Passing the rock I threw up on last year gives me gratitude for the lack of heat this year. So many places I remember that heat and am lifted by its absence. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happy to see Matt Lutz and roll down The Drainpipe with him. I appreciate his good spirits.</div>
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I remember nothing of Tettegouche Aid Station, but Lisa says I'm there seven minutes and eat watermelon and drink a couple cups of water. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16uP4enO1Yj8rE2OKQQooYclJj0Z64Nrsko2fLfZqnfIQQ4WVxWU8BQ5Qbr1dkNo7A5nTfVm6dFuVmHfnV7Ug_bv13AAi2BMArrJ7SHSz1fciRCwrXSDVlg3fTvIFdrOd8DhDP1wVrBs/s1600/IMG_9174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi16uP4enO1Yj8rE2OKQQooYclJj0Z64Nrsko2fLfZqnfIQQ4WVxWU8BQ5Qbr1dkNo7A5nTfVm6dFuVmHfnV7Ug_bv13AAi2BMArrJ7SHSz1fciRCwrXSDVlg3fTvIFdrOd8DhDP1wVrBs/s1600/IMG_9174.JPG" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woo! Photo by Maranda Lorraine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've run Tettegouche to County 6 about a month before, out and back, so this section is familiar. It starts with climbing and turns runnable for long portions at the end, with great views at Sawmill Dome. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A three minute sit on a rock with a view. Heartbeat in my
forehead. Some cramping and soreness. I allow myself the
time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Breathing in. Breathing out. Stay in the here and the now. There is no other. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I get an idea for what the next writing project should be. Then I tell
myself don't trust any ideas in this race. Then I can't let the idea
go. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNVQbkqoN3dEy4e9kurl-YoVngwo1YReRNqCOLPZi8J41pw-1tpliRD5EYQ4JXnAqalj-ocNcj5NvOZGg0g9-bRipvOKRChfuelgLym5U2QFVoICkmVHlivIC2vBHw8F4IJolPpoYqD0/s1600/IMGP1908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNVQbkqoN3dEy4e9kurl-YoVngwo1YReRNqCOLPZi8J41pw-1tpliRD5EYQ4JXnAqalj-ocNcj5NvOZGg0g9-bRipvOKRChfuelgLym5U2QFVoICkmVHlivIC2vBHw8F4IJolPpoYqD0/s1600/IMGP1908.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The back piece of this section has flow!</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From a hillside, through a break in the trees, the first glimpse of County Road 6 Aid Station in the distance, a line of cars and campers on a ribbon of pavement.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I catch up with Shawn Severson or she catches me. I try to stay with her on the pavement leading into the aid station, but the cramps are really hitting me--they've been knocking loudly at my door for the last couple sections. Calves like a flat tire flapping. Time for S-Caps and soup broth.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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At County 6 we ready for darkness. Sleeves, fresh buff, headlamps. I sit and eat melon. Lisa worries I'll get cold. I worry I'll get sweaty and then cold. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Night running is magic, especially on this trail. Especially a couple days before a super moon.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
We build a nice train from County 6 to Finland. Shawn is in there for awhile. And two guys who are doing their first hundreds, Eric and Nick. I love Nick's Canadian/Australian accent and Eric's energy. We find some really runnable trail and make great time. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
That moon turns Lake Superior into floating fragments of sparkling glass.</div>
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There's a party going down at Finland. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lisa corrals me into a chair inside the rec center at Finland for a shoe change. Lisa does the dirty work with the shoes. She's amazing. She's not a mud person, and I can smell the putrid on them. My mom tries to help me pull off the wet socks and I shush her away (sorry Ma). It feels like I'm peeling skin though. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The soup broth here is needed and warms me. Melissa always seems to have in her hands just what I need at aid stations, water, soup, soda.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I leave Finland with Eric. We're hoping to bop into Nick too along the trail, good chemistry and teamwork happening. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I leave Finland expecting my feet to feel better with these fresh shoes. But they don't. They burn. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A month earlier, I ran much of this night stuff, from here to Sugarloaf, with Jason Husveth and Joel Button. The familiarity helps so much. I hope Jason and Joel are having as much fun as I am.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That flat gravel road out of Finland starts a nice rhythm. Eric and I are overwhelmed by the open night sky so heavy with stars and moon.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Somewhere I catch Nick and fall in behind him. We stick together for a couple sections. We carry each other. When I need to be quiet his conversation pulls me along and when he gets quiet I'm babbling away. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Climbing ahead of me, he says, "Shall I teach you to talk Australian?" He gives up quickly, sees a lost cause. But when I'm alone through Crosby-Manitou, I'll repeat it to myself and the darkness, "G'day mate." </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pancakes at Sonju. It's tough to eat anything but I force them down.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I stay away from the Sonju campfire. That thing has the potential to suck me in for hours, a lifetime maybe.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I lean my elbows on the table and my back muscles stretch and spasm. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is the third station I see John Gustafson working. That guy's always talking me through 100's, telling me what I need at the right time. He's an aid station wizard. This time he tells me I stink, says I need to get moving to clear the air. He's right.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Shadows move with the headlamp, briefly become anything but shadows. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Goal 3. I'm moving well through the night. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Coming into the road that leads to Crosby, a long line of parked cars, each with a sleeping crew person inside. Blankets, foggy windows, faces against the glass.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Those Gnarly aid station ladies at Crosby, dancing to "What Does the Fox Say," thrusting hips at food offerings with their dick jacket arrows. I'm so grateful Lisa's there to tell me this is real. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I leave Nick at Crosby. He needs a little time. I know he'll make this. And he does, eventually finishing a place behind me. That makes me so happy to see him at the end.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Todd Rowe is coming into Crosby backwards. He's guiding a runner returning to the aid station--she's a little confused maybe, perhaps needing to regroup before handling this rough section. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Todd deserves more than a mention here. His story represents an army of volunteers. He's been registered for the run, but decides against it at some point. Instead, he volunteers in a big way. In many ways. Early in the run, he's taking photos, snapping shots in a few different places. Then I see him cooking at an aid station. Maybe two aid stations. Then he paces Kathy Jambor, but when they meet this runner in distress, he helps her back to Crosby, finds a ride to Sugarloaf, runs back until he finds his runner and keeps pacing her. Postrace he'll be processing his photos and giving them to runners as awesome memories. He does even more than I'm mentioning here. We could nominate Todd for supervolunteer, but we would need a truckload of capes to hand out. There are lots of other people doing the same kinds of things, selflessly leapfrogging this parade for days, working so many roles and giving up sleep and other stuff to offer us runners every opportunity to do this thing. It tears me up. Thank you all.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Caribou River beneath me, foam in the lights through little holes in the bridge.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Climbing, I look up and see the moon so bright. No, it's a headlamp. The runner asks if we're still on trail. We're climbing over rocks, using our hands to get up. We're on trail, I tell him. The only way here is up.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He's the only person I see in this section. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Climbing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That setting moon orange as a pumpkin.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Climbing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A beaver splashing her tail somewhere behind me sounds like Sasquatch skipping boulders. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bats flutter the headlamp's circle again and again. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
That setting moon red as an ember.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On long runs I've been training myself to override my governor. When walking, I've made it a habit to say, Why am I walking? When the word "Why" hits my brain now, if I'm not climbing, the feet automatically stumble and at least attempt attempt running. A little momentum. Forward. Progress. Making good time through the night.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A ship with its lights out on the lake looks as if it's floating on clouds.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I barely remember Sugarloaf Aid Station, only that I'm grateful to get there. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Daylight creeping into the sky, then pouring through branches, bouncing off water and rocks.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sunlight normally equals resurrection for me. But there's not much to
resurrect from. I've moved well through the night with minimal suffering. Still, light equals energy and I have a new bump in my step.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
In the light, everything becomes dogs. Stumps and rocks and discolored branches. Dogs. I couldn't choose a better thing to hallucinate.<br />
<br />
The feet burn wet. The cramps come in waves between S-caps and soup broth.<br />
<br />
<br />
Mushrooms from fairy tales. Such colors and shapes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocdm3ll_hmkqf0QFyAkCvi1vmzfBc26RVlPoj9ddmrMLKZd7pG7DKXurWncP_os8QIUzbnEpRGz3b-kmyA6ihr03LahXobXb3z1XXtZ_3c3yj4P5bZZQPdh-mpNsXqyUVv3PxKKYo2Bs/s1600/IMGP1931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocdm3ll_hmkqf0QFyAkCvi1vmzfBc26RVlPoj9ddmrMLKZd7pG7DKXurWncP_os8QIUzbnEpRGz3b-kmyA6ihr03LahXobXb3z1XXtZ_3c3yj4P5bZZQPdh-mpNsXqyUVv3PxKKYo2Bs/s1600/IMGP1931.JPG" height="241" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I pass the marathon start area about a half hour before their go-time. They smell soapy and clean.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I want to stay ahead of them as long as possible. Every muddy area I slop through is one more before even more feet stomp it wetter. And really, after the trains have passed me, I notice no difference--mud is mud--but it gives me a reason to keep moving quickly now.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I catch Todd and Kathy along the Cross River. Marathoners come around us. Todd's voice is a life-rope pulling me through the water. I feed off it. At some point I slowly move around them. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the other side of the river a bee stings the back of my leg. I yell out. I'm embarrassed. The sweat burns. My feet burn. I'm having a blast.</div>
<br />
These marathoners give great energy. I jump in their trains and try to hang on. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A marathoner in front of me catches herself from a fall. I say, "Good save," but before I can say it I'm down, bouncing instead of rolling. Two ladies stop to help me. I surprise myself by popping up, asking how I looked going down, if it had an entertainment factor.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Zzcz5E9Dx9uJb6tCBjVhVpS5xXOi4Lh2DGVCCY8k8yef45rd8PZEEsKtpE-UewoQn9eJIsqIzLPNpIbzcWypxHJX-xR3i1qIbONENZN-3ouFlT-N1y4f2OjgvXzIMd3c27QmS4NPMvc/s1600/%C2%A9iancorless.com-1761.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Zzcz5E9Dx9uJb6tCBjVhVpS5xXOi4Lh2DGVCCY8k8yef45rd8PZEEsKtpE-UewoQn9eJIsqIzLPNpIbzcWypxHJX-xR3i1qIbONENZN-3ouFlT-N1y4f2OjgvXzIMd3c27QmS4NPMvc/s1600/%C2%A9iancorless.com-1761.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Ian Corless</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At Temperance, I'm surprised by how little I've suffered. I'm scared to jinx it. I'm simply feeling an absence of bad. Or maybe I've broken through something, learned to accept it. After all, my feet are on fire and my legs are still cramping and sore. Of course there is hurt involved. I've gone 85 miles. I'm enjoying this.</div>
<br />
I tell Lisa I can finish within six hours. Somehow, I've been doing math.<br />
<br />
That writing project is a full book now and I've written chapters in the night despite focusing on being mindful and present.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhba_XAgYmdyZ8zXbG5aJ807ZMFBIDaPimuVdh5hXVE1ZbTUGiJZKOwoICh0jgbasWcZg8m6N6I3I7iqjMFGJwK2g-_tohjddQpZ07jrrE9RjBzg681li57joUx4Ufw4TlcXUQJN-UWg/s1600/IMGP1919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhba_XAgYmdyZ8zXbG5aJ807ZMFBIDaPimuVdh5hXVE1ZbTUGiJZKOwoICh0jgbasWcZg8m6N6I3I7iqjMFGJwK2g-_tohjddQpZ07jrrE9RjBzg681li57joUx4Ufw4TlcXUQJN-UWg/s1600/IMGP1919.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The trails through Temperance State Park are not as technical and it's nice to get a rhythm and movement out of the aid station. I'll take advantage of what I can before Carlton Peak. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A passing marathoner asks my name, touches me and says a prayer for me. Hail Mary full of grace...I hear as she moves forward. </div>
<br />
Carlton Peak has been big in my head. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the climb I tuck in behind a group of Ojibway runners who brought a huge group for the spring runs and have returned with three. I love the video they made about that spring run. Their energy feeds me on the climb and I am grateful. Carlton Peak is as big as it's been in my head. It takes hands, oxygen, persistence.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiliRUOIkmXCE1CbumBkuxWveuRBOJJTIcUG2bHiTzgPT4GKjyAn0DF0O8PKNnmCXftDys969HWB30VK4XeDCBKasR4NkmaPeN67Bvh8nllAOKce_cPRpH1e0kJA1iFMdIfQIw8BLGLnlM/s1600/IMGP1926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiliRUOIkmXCE1CbumBkuxWveuRBOJJTIcUG2bHiTzgPT4GKjyAn0DF0O8PKNnmCXftDys969HWB30VK4XeDCBKasR4NkmaPeN67Bvh8nllAOKce_cPRpH1e0kJA1iFMdIfQIw8BLGLnlM/s1600/IMGP1926.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miigwitch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once we're at the peak, it's an easy slide of gradual downhill and boardwalks into the aid station.<br />
<br />
Cowbells. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCFB_7G7UwNvLEHMj9rNc9xoErKyydk_qLqeAKhhCjiRUJQJX0MV8njvmGYJF_uC_GJRuSgGDZGGFRTbB4y7d9Dc0KT4NEvZXjj56c04w3bEXzOeYpbN-hMXxfk6xr58rWTeouEtTiYk/s1600/%C2%A9iancorless.com-1819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCFB_7G7UwNvLEHMj9rNc9xoErKyydk_qLqeAKhhCjiRUJQJX0MV8njvmGYJF_uC_GJRuSgGDZGGFRTbB4y7d9Dc0KT4NEvZXjj56c04w3bEXzOeYpbN-hMXxfk6xr58rWTeouEtTiYk/s1600/%C2%A9iancorless.com-1819.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My crew. So grateful for their support and encouragement. Photo by Ian Corless.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A half mary to go and this next section drags. I enter self-pity territory, but quickly reach for food (my second gel) and release the negativity into the wind. We're too close for that now.</div>
<br />
Breathing in. Breathing out. There is here and there is now. There is no other. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Instead of trying to step around mud or looking for rocks and sticks to get me through the nasty parts, I'm splashing right through the middle. That seems to take less energy. </div>
<br />
This step. This breath. That's all that exists. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm in and out of Oberg in two minutes. I ask Lisa if she can find me a Coke, a root beer, and a Mountain Dew at the finish.</div>
<br />
The parking lot helper tells me and Lisa someone mistakenly circled the Oberg loop. Twice.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I tell a marathoner to get in my back pocket for the climb up Moose Mountain. We work it together with measured progress. Up top, I'm able to run in spurts. The spurts get longer as I recover.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUg_NDJ-0TNy-Pb7BWg4YirO6siPx-mcc_ebMR61vqodDRRsYA0JT6PfPzmupvZ_rYaKKPyfZgQhqJFT6vNSsCIsAdGls8kuxDYnEJeHAs2Cn5-KJ0TFuL6r05qDg9ooUT0K72tGEzBo/s1600/IMGP1928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUg_NDJ-0TNy-Pb7BWg4YirO6siPx-mcc_ebMR61vqodDRRsYA0JT6PfPzmupvZ_rYaKKPyfZgQhqJFT6vNSsCIsAdGls8kuxDYnEJeHAs2Cn5-KJ0TFuL6r05qDg9ooUT0K72tGEzBo/s1600/IMGP1928.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100 miles done. 3.5 to go! Roughly speaking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is no better sight than the top of Mystery Mountain. <br />
<br />
There is no better sight than the Mystery Mountain Group Campsite. It's truly downhill from here.<br />
<br />
The sound of the Poplar River brought tears to my eyes. All these emotions rumble around and tighten the throat.<br />
<br />
There is the crossing of the bridge. <br />
<br />
A hundred miler and his pacer pass me on the pavement. There's no chance I could swing their pace.<br />
<br />
A smell of burgers. <br />
<br />
Cowbells.<br />
<br />
Woo!<br />
<br />
It's happening. I see the faces. This is happening. This is now.<br />
<br />
I give Storkamp a big manhug. I really put that shit together, I tell him.<br />
<br />
31:36:09<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4lV0QfsKwgW0XMgJoPLevY_BgiwxrU1JRuuXOjBKy8FVgH6_H0gkKVTPgnUB_JgZgIQCn7NlJUUQNpJQKFm-VVDJeLmB_4cYgIOtmmuAg2B4dy89xhAfPXhJaDvFElkUZJxKBNuK428/s1600/IMG_9157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4lV0QfsKwgW0XMgJoPLevY_BgiwxrU1JRuuXOjBKy8FVgH6_H0gkKVTPgnUB_JgZgIQCn7NlJUUQNpJQKFm-VVDJeLmB_4cYgIOtmmuAg2B4dy89xhAfPXhJaDvFElkUZJxKBNuK428/s1600/IMG_9157.JPG" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is happy. Photo by John Storkamp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm hugging Lisa. I'm hugging my mom. I'm hugging my dad. I'm hugging Jason Husveth. I stink bad and I'm soaked in sweat.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is the table. I plant myself there. Lisa removes my shoes for the second time in this run. I'm blown away that she does that. I do the socks. Even seated, the hips and quads argue as I reach forward. Food appears at the table. Someone brings me chili, cookies. Nancy Griffith brings a cold bottle of water. My hand is in Joe Boler's potato chip bag. I'm in a daze. </div>
<br />
I check Lisa's phone to see how TJ did. He rocked it. I knew he would. This makes me even happier. I check on other runners. I'm curious about friends running the fifty. I hope Rich and Shelly are having fun.<br />
<br />
I'm so lucky I got to experience this with Lisa. And my parents. So lucky. And thanks Melissa!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm with good friends and the people I love. I've been lucky to do this thing I love. It might be a foolish thing, this run. Or it might be selfish, or transformative, life-altering, or all those things. It might be a simple prayer of gratitude. Or a great shout to the universe to remind us of our aliveness, our connection to whatever there is. Maybe too it's that reminder of how small we are, and yet how much our smallness counts in the big scheme. It's our dance around a nighttime fire. It's our community, our family. No matter, this weekend, this run, with these people, was right where I was supposed to be, and it felt good and it felt right. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the end, there is gratitude. So much gratitude.</div>
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<br />Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-67438993901538190492014-09-03T08:12:00.000-07:002014-09-03T08:13:54.876-07:00FunFunFun Fatass Trail Run 2014<style>
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<b><span class="fsl"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">FunFunFun Fatass Trail Run </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span class="fsl"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">50k, 20 miles, 10 miles (or just as far as you feel like running)</span></span></b></div>
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<span class="fsl"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Saturday September 27</span></span></div>
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<span class="fsl"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">9 am start</span></span></div>
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<span class="fsl"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Seven Mile Creek County Park </span></span></div>
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<span class="fsl"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(between Saint Peter and Mankato on Highway 169)</span></span></div>
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<b>
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“fatass” run is typically defined as: </b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">No
Fees. No Awards. No Aid. No Whining.</b> </span></span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
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</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjgosQtk34zJWmVQcYal5WhJtaWUyPghburYcoNW9AfliZHb72DmJnwvTo7slxZt1IL9O9mzqHyF1VBMeqhQnGbf0256i3qAu0mtl2dHOHP210Y9E8Y4GCqS-3t6j5266xH8mpUT3-E3s/s1600/Fat+Ass+Elevation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjgosQtk34zJWmVQcYal5WhJtaWUyPghburYcoNW9AfliZHb72DmJnwvTo7slxZt1IL9O9mzqHyF1VBMeqhQnGbf0256i3qAu0mtl2dHOHP210Y9E8Y4GCqS-3t6j5266xH8mpUT3-E3s/s1600/Fat+Ass+Elevation.jpg" height="90" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elevation chart of 10ish mile loop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Start time for all runs is 9 am.</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<span class="fsl"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Registration</span></b><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">: </span></span><br />
<ul>
<li><span class="fsl"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This event is <b>FREE!</b> <b> </b></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span class="fsl"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b> Please bring one unique self-made postcard</b>. If everyone brings a
postcard, everyone who participates will receive a cool, unique, postcard from
another r</span></span><span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">andomly
chosen runner as a memento.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have fun
with these.</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> It also helps (but is by no means necessary) if you <b>"Join" the event on facebook</b> at https://www.facebook.com/events/1470563133196992/. Invite your friends. Why not "Like" Mankato Area Trail Runners' page as long as you're there?</span></span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38yA1lyWVfEjRCx0CC2eNDtNmRx1eYMBl9vygaBl4IPO-djR_e1DxnP2orzCxDHFsv0W1VIzamnRqp2hpwDZrCWG5ioad3bIZgx09Bw-AsQunWBYtZagaeN2gomXdO4Cm3zreAXpYv0E/s1600/P8270160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38yA1lyWVfEjRCx0CC2eNDtNmRx1eYMBl9vygaBl4IPO-djR_e1DxnP2orzCxDHFsv0W1VIzamnRqp2hpwDZrCWG5ioad3bIZgx09Bw-AsQunWBYtZagaeN2gomXdO4Cm3zreAXpYv0E/s1600/P8270160.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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div.WordSection1
{page:WordSecti</style><span class="textexposedshow"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Course</span></b><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">: 50k is three 10+ish mile loops, with the other
runs being one and two loops. Trails are an amazing mix of deer path,
singletrack, doubletrack and horse trail with the possibility of dry creekbed too.
Expect mud, hills, water crossings, challenges, awesome scenery, a laidback and
encouraging atmosphere and some fun-loving runners (or at least some run-loving
funners). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And if 10 miles is too far, run 8, or 5, or 3.
Whatever it takes to get your money's worth (remember it's free) and put a smile on your face.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjb71v-ylzAck5t87V8qIQADqDSNQnrHMKhR7UtZygfFhz2Whgf9ul9QtmT2sJV-yA0nwl57fRVToHlnLQf6ffqJ_pEY_rl8XF7nCYsyr6QP7TjmpVkiw6m-4fvg7TtRBLTiqMwdsi8s/s1600/P9010250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjb71v-ylzAck5t87V8qIQADqDSNQnrHMKhR7UtZygfFhz2Whgf9ul9QtmT2sJV-yA0nwl57fRVToHlnLQf6ffqJ_pEY_rl8XF7nCYsyr6QP7TjmpVkiw6m-4fvg7TtRBLTiqMwdsi8s/s1600/P9010250.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">The course will be well-marked with flags. We don't want you to get lost, but trail running requires some amount of attentiveness, so please be alert for flags, other people, horses, etc. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QjTABAbsZzijX1dkZoarxXhgJeoQ5e-iquvENYoV7-7Ivga-_Nvf8xeC3fRLLYOL-8T_cnGoShmHCAVeh0rNeFFbgL8QD_Px8gzpDr0eg0vgAFTbsQof6fsjpEqSqG0QeJP_UVu4aB0/s1600/P8270187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QjTABAbsZzijX1dkZoarxXhgJeoQ5e-iquvENYoV7-7Ivga-_Nvf8xeC3fRLLYOL-8T_cnGoShmHCAVeh0rNeFFbgL8QD_Px8gzpDr0eg0vgAFTbsQof6fsjpEqSqG0QeJP_UVu4aB0/s1600/P8270187.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Seven Mile Creek Nicollet County Park follows the creek and its bluffs as it leads to the Minnesota River Valley and eventually joins the river. It's a lovely valley, especially in the fall, especially for trail running. The park is dog-friendly. </span>
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<span class="textexposedshow"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="textexposedshow"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Seven Mile Creek </span></b><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <b>is located on Highway 169 between Saint Peter
and Mankato, </b>with clear signage<b>.</b> Enter the park on west (nonriver) side of the highway. We'll start
at the pavilion by the second playground. </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">T-shirts: A limited number of
Mankato Area Trail Runners <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">t-shirts</span>
will (hopefully) be available for purchase.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Questions? Contact Kevin at kevinjlangton@gmail.com.</span></span><br />
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<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We are intentionally calling this a "run" instead of a "race." The emphasis is on fun, camaraderie, and enjoyment of these beautiful trails as the body, mind and spirit interact with those trails, and on helping each other attain goals. We hope you arrive with a spirit of fun, challenge, and community. We hope you leave with a smile and some new friends. And maybe a little mud.</span></span></div>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-77807050698492082212014-07-14T07:36:00.000-07:002014-07-14T08:10:59.261-07:00Beaverhead 100k, Salmon Idaho, July 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3PjXWJxHNPP6PCziIqLCC2wat3FElxMH-A9rHWONmV6AkDIs51OLRDgCRraRE75xbb4d32wMf6KsMd3i5d98DZbUiaXOVvzECt4UjUaOBlA5qZ3RWCNwP3cpjt5E19T_AuIEEaVKny8/s1600/IMGP1137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3PjXWJxHNPP6PCziIqLCC2wat3FElxMH-A9rHWONmV6AkDIs51OLRDgCRraRE75xbb4d32wMf6KsMd3i5d98DZbUiaXOVvzECt4UjUaOBlA5qZ3RWCNwP3cpjt5E19T_AuIEEaVKny8/s1600/IMGP1137.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>What you should first know about me:</b></div>
<ul style="text-align: justify;">
<li>I'm a flatlander who grew up in south Louisiana, at or below sea level, and now lives in Minnesota, elevation 794 feet.</li>
<li>When running ultras I try to focus on positivity and to spread that around. If I sound like I'm complaining when discussing this run, I'm not. I'm just trying to express the magnitude of it from a flatlander's perspective. I loved this run (now that it's over). </li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Course breakdown</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
100k is 62 miles. This first-year run is based out of Salmon, Idaho and runs in the Beaverhead Mountains. It follows the Continental Divide trail along the Montana/Idaho border most of the way. Most of it is run between 8000 and 10,000 feet elevation. Elevation change is 27,800 feet. Running Surface: 59% single track, 35% ATV double track, 6% boulder/skree.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The race directors are two brothers named David and Eric who seem to be great guys as well as great race directors. I was really impressed. I decided to jump into this race after the registration closed--on a whim and a hope to explore the west and use some personal leave time before losing it--and they were very accommodating.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Before the start </b> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The night before, in the hotel parking lot, I met a couple from Calgary and offered the lady, who was running too, a ride to the race shuttle in the morning. The shuttle was to leave at 4 am, so we agreed to meet at 3:45. I set two alarms for 3 am, but at 3:46 I was awakened by her knocking at the door. "Please give me 5 minutes," I said through the door. I was so happy she had knocked! I was also so happy I had set everything out the night before per my prerace ritual. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I forgot my watch in the room, and it felt strange, but somewhat liberating, to run without it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There were only 12-14 of us in the 100k (a later starting 50k had something like 50-60 runners) so we only needed a short bus. I sat next to a lady from Missoula and while we were talking about running packs she mentioned carrying hair spray. I wondered why anyone would carry such a thing, but I was afraid to ask. Later, I realized she was talking about bear spray, not hair spray, and she mentioned the possibility of running into bears here. I realized we're not all that far from the Yellowstone ecosystem. Grizzlies? Oh snap! The flatlander's mind races. Then, at the start, the race directors mentioned keeping an ear open for rattlesnakes. Double snap! One of the brothers said he was sending his kids ahead of us to scare the snakes off the trail.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGEaLAWHaFU43X6TCqcJmZTNV7t4rgLXe-DeCuXZHwlWgWA5G4ElFZ-kUAuV-GpypIHIU9vp__4ZA7XBSPgemtErKw_TvTMAfNdyiCij1p4nDikzXLQ4wYN2XPOM7NbFHso-VIkcG6CH4/s1600/IMGP1088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGEaLAWHaFU43X6TCqcJmZTNV7t4rgLXe-DeCuXZHwlWgWA5G4ElFZ-kUAuV-GpypIHIU9vp__4ZA7XBSPgemtErKw_TvTMAfNdyiCij1p4nDikzXLQ4wYN2XPOM7NbFHso-VIkcG6CH4/s1600/IMGP1088.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start area</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0R63_VxzmqWLm2s2PzTLBfpmk57u4jac3ofX-HmSQ6HiJ5XnSc_opRh4ls-6EwZPTd8ZHJomUF4o5lM7OVcLXV-xneY753nBXGD0seYsXrIB8tAd8bXnru_Cg_e2u8I6z3nfc25V4Zo/s1600/IMGP1083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0R63_VxzmqWLm2s2PzTLBfpmk57u4jac3ofX-HmSQ6HiJ5XnSc_opRh4ls-6EwZPTd8ZHJomUF4o5lM7OVcLXV-xneY753nBXGD0seYsXrIB8tAd8bXnru_Cg_e2u8I6z3nfc25V4Zo/s1600/IMGP1083.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start line with US, Idaho, and Montana flags.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl0EbOXK0hjeTvsQhfAm1BY4_TqRTDAkkSuKNR6alWEAWfU_rN7rbUC3J6FBWy5ZLQoXn7f7a5EbIlxuvIXpOnIqYMLtVdsqu4xD2tK2YBL8pDOsVTztf_i-4daqqAnuwr2Lgk2TP3M8/s1600/IMGP1084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl0EbOXK0hjeTvsQhfAm1BY4_TqRTDAkkSuKNR6alWEAWfU_rN7rbUC3J6FBWy5ZLQoXn7f7a5EbIlxuvIXpOnIqYMLtVdsqu4xD2tK2YBL8pDOsVTztf_i-4daqqAnuwr2Lgk2TP3M8/s1600/IMGP1084.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sun rising</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2D99NvnzFVez7gdD4AL6_VHXUlC2J_5AKE55OG9w6bujl4DB3D2edgGJn7M5uBC3tVRN8A29EI0hW9IRnvq9wPaoaWoDAFc-MT47GCIy4iN1tZ1BFbGFK21NoTFql9r3eUVc06QnpI/s1600/IMGP1092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2D99NvnzFVez7gdD4AL6_VHXUlC2J_5AKE55OG9w6bujl4DB3D2edgGJn7M5uBC3tVRN8A29EI0hW9IRnvq9wPaoaWoDAFc-MT47GCIy4iN1tZ1BFbGFK21NoTFql9r3eUVc06QnpI/s1600/IMGP1092.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final instructions on the bus</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>The Run</b> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With an anthem played on a trumpet and a nonchalant countdown we were off. The first five miles were more or less a steady climb, mostly through lovely pine forest, and my legs felt tight, but they loosened up eventually. Around mile 6 we hit a meadow with lovely views, then more climbing.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO-wbUyIpW48TOmwn7bRqYdUytSF9Sb0_lS4WK4NfGI_KM9upqHzmJPGGmerzCe5DD85ySdCLYF3ca0cMV0_lCow9yYJBQL_2VrJeDnLvCLRxrEDo67ESIfMXdFIY00Nd3AvnM9jY-Yts/s1600/IMGP1110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO-wbUyIpW48TOmwn7bRqYdUytSF9Sb0_lS4WK4NfGI_KM9upqHzmJPGGmerzCe5DD85ySdCLYF3ca0cMV0_lCow9yYJBQL_2VrJeDnLvCLRxrEDo67ESIfMXdFIY00Nd3AvnM9jY-Yts/s1600/IMGP1110.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meadow</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSOP2fXbgtwVBj9h-PvrlvKgwf7MtZiN4v7WLZ3O_u_puzLqcYSpmXRJt8Yg9dsa4KXqJOfVKFOfWnn6tDbUE5VN4zM65McGI4Yl-Ad3Abszq8XNbmw_X0_ip20Do8VEkR7O4M9skw8ME/s1600/IMGP1111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSOP2fXbgtwVBj9h-PvrlvKgwf7MtZiN4v7WLZ3O_u_puzLqcYSpmXRJt8Yg9dsa4KXqJOfVKFOfWnn6tDbUE5VN4zM65McGI4Yl-Ad3Abszq8XNbmw_X0_ip20Do8VEkR7O4M9skw8ME/s1600/IMGP1111.JPG" height="237" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meadow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gYPOnl5l91cLpubKS67kq_TFz4ytytU6bAklAWdUP6ufDYlyFtzSFm8fplD1kUwkIwl1d4BQ2P0lY1orf2AXF4pRiW-vCl2bYqpHHh87y6hYfmUChU2QbtJIdrUiHSAlIemW71hjh6k/s1600/IMGP1130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gYPOnl5l91cLpubKS67kq_TFz4ytytU6bAklAWdUP6ufDYlyFtzSFm8fplD1kUwkIwl1d4BQ2P0lY1orf2AXF4pRiW-vCl2bYqpHHh87y6hYfmUChU2QbtJIdrUiHSAlIemW71hjh6k/s1600/IMGP1130.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely views</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Most of the trail was very runnable. One thing I noticed, and I assume it has to do with the elevation, is that my nose was very runny all day. And it wasn't just me. It seems l heard the bugle of snot rockets all day and into the night.</div>
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I wanted to run a smart race. For me, that means an appropriate pace from the start. More importantly, it means not going out too fast and suffering late. I did a good job of this, staying conservative but steady. Still, I would find suffering later. But perhaps that is what I had come here to find. After all, it had only been a couple weeks since I ran the Black Hills 100. I had also come to find lovely scenery and it was here in spades and just kept getting better the more I ran.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Much of these middle miles went by quickly. I settled into a pace that would flip flop with a lady from Vancouver named Suzanne. I like running downhills, but she seemed to like running downhills with loose rocks, and I eventually learned to wave her by on these sections. We shared some good trail conversations.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIf-2rDMgXXdOLobPPr7SPaIaZDCua7tnlR-eUy63oyFEsGLF81DzOmwmI1-R4VgrWTKuN492TuLHx2jAlh5MrcKKTtR6KiM3cJnDg2Mqr6atPuVI4KCWCnUy-l_m8O1NSBvmT3dxfbAc/s1600/IMGP1164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIf-2rDMgXXdOLobPPr7SPaIaZDCua7tnlR-eUy63oyFEsGLF81DzOmwmI1-R4VgrWTKuN492TuLHx2jAlh5MrcKKTtR6KiM3cJnDg2Mqr6atPuVI4KCWCnUy-l_m8O1NSBvmT3dxfbAc/s1600/IMGP1164.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing away from the Lemhi Pass aid station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I moved through the aid stations quickly and efficiently. I was impressed with the enthusiasm and course knowledge all the aid station volunteers shared with us. I would hear things like, "It's 4.7 miles to the next station with 1000 feet of climb," as someone put ice in my water bladder. Or, "If you thought that last climb was something, the next one will take you over 10,000. It's right behind us here." </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOH93q02xMtdS1-WR5IAUO2lgdeMLmlXcgB8i4QIE76SVlDmLiMe3jeRkd8wnblu3TQBGcAoHf91Nd-E6Hg01LWwl6Nr3_Usr3idxspRqnkQwWm7vWIeHgg_wrWuQQYZgTw4URfeZtXE0/s1600/IMGP1149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOH93q02xMtdS1-WR5IAUO2lgdeMLmlXcgB8i4QIE76SVlDmLiMe3jeRkd8wnblu3TQBGcAoHf91Nd-E6Hg01LWwl6Nr3_Usr3idxspRqnkQwWm7vWIeHgg_wrWuQQYZgTw4URfeZtXE0/s1600/IMGP1149.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="center"><td class="tr-caption">Continental divide marker</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The (roughly) halfway mark at Lemhi Pass came sooner than I expected. The climb out of there started to catch up with me. I tried to take deep breaths, with my hands on my hips to open my lungs. I got light headed and red-lined my heart rate on this climb (and plenty of others), but kept moving. Somewhere around here, the aid stations seemed to move a bit further away from each other. I went through waves of near-bonking. I tried to eat lots of fruit and I drank plenty of water and Heed at the aid stations, as well as the Tailwind mix that was in my water bladder. I yelled Woo! often to pep myself up.</div>
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I was sweating a lot but the weather was near perfect. Occasionally we heard thunder, or perhaps felt a sprinkling of rain drops, just enough for a cooling effect.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_MEIU3NA_y7MgQIP0Krt_-etWry-dAGoXC5RWgcOtF-ChYxT5iDOqAGotcZOJpLhxj1cLNRGaYWloCUmleaN79vVB3OG5Z98Ere5BU5cu2WH9TLLbE-J_u0ICu1ey9K8fbITF4QziMk/s1600/IMGP1155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_MEIU3NA_y7MgQIP0Krt_-etWry-dAGoXC5RWgcOtF-ChYxT5iDOqAGotcZOJpLhxj1cLNRGaYWloCUmleaN79vVB3OG5Z98Ere5BU5cu2WH9TLLbE-J_u0ICu1ey9K8fbITF4QziMk/s1600/IMGP1155.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Course markings were everywhere, very thorough</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The up-and-downness of the course seemed to be intensifying in this middle third, after the halfway point. Maybe some of that was my fatigue. The legs were hurting some. Deerflies followed me from one aid station to the next. Sometimes I would slap myself silly to get rid of them, although all I was doing was slapping myself silly, never harming or even getting rid of the buzzing deerflies. Somewhere around mile 40-43, Suzanne and I caught up to a local guy named Joel. Real nice guy. Of course we were climbing at the time. As we were ran over some snow, I grabbed a handful and rubbed it over my head and face to cool off. I even ate some, and wondered if that was a mistake. I had been having a tough time swallowing the Tailwind. Before we got to the Goldstone Pass aid station, I decided to let Suzanne and Joel go ahead while I sat on a log and threw up. I've done this in other races and sometimes it makes me feel better, especially if I've been drinking too much. And it did help some, but I was wiped out. And this is when the course decided to open up its unique and relentless brand of ass whoopings on me, one after another.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGlhYNWt50KWPgAYkxGZ_jom-Y1bGKDgyAPHI8DdAPEN8RLpdoZ1Jwcm57dzl2JMVzEYjphGgSnIHImUAZ6ovryO35dXZCupJmW_eF-_q4RxrEL6xpv5pZf5WWxAkyJrd9k8PFPxuTVc/s1600/IMGP1170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGlhYNWt50KWPgAYkxGZ_jom-Y1bGKDgyAPHI8DdAPEN8RLpdoZ1Jwcm57dzl2JMVzEYjphGgSnIHImUAZ6ovryO35dXZCupJmW_eF-_q4RxrEL6xpv5pZf5WWxAkyJrd9k8PFPxuTVc/s1600/IMGP1170.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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There were two big climbs around Goldstone, one right before and one right after it. The first was up a rocky ridge and it caused me to sit on a cooler for a minute at the next aid station. The second went higher, but didn't seem as steep. These climbs were real ass kickers. I sounded like a steam engine chugging up them, and I was grateful I don't smoke anymore, although it's been less than three years. I wonder if that should be on any of those effects of quitting smoking charts, maybe after "Regains sense of smell," it could say "Can climb mountains in ultramarathons."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhszDVackYAQynsuRhb_E15qJBwmpEIO94cAvb47hc4a-DDFwpv_lJ5ToutVhXiy0yoNmKbwUgVDUchY7yC5aDuOomGJqXdBGq0_m2nzxq6ssKP4IDm9Veu9Yzg5pmUbMWUYNW1n3TvZzk/s1600/IMGP1180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhszDVackYAQynsuRhb_E15qJBwmpEIO94cAvb47hc4a-DDFwpv_lJ5ToutVhXiy0yoNmKbwUgVDUchY7yC5aDuOomGJqXdBGq0_m2nzxq6ssKP4IDm9Veu9Yzg5pmUbMWUYNW1n3TvZzk/s1600/IMGP1180.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption">The views were really opening up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I kept thinking I would rally soon, as I usually do in these things, to run through the low points and rough patches, and I did, but the terrain seemed to be against me rallying. Or running. Between Goldstone and Janke Lake aid stations, which was the last time cutoff, things got rockier, but the ridges we ran across were so lovely. At times I was running through a Lord of the Rings landscape.</div>
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<b>The Scree(m) </b></div>
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Before I left Janke Lake aid station, one of the volunteers said with the tone of a funeral director, "This is the scree section." I ha no idea what to expect. Before the race, the directors had given us instructions on what to do if a lightning storm hits us on the scree field. Scree is a term for loose rock. The course description says that 6% of this race is over scree(m) field. The views are incredible, but I had to keep my eyes down. I was so grateful I was doing this section before sundown. I was grateful it wasn't raining too. I can't imagine doing it in the dark, or over wet rocks. With every new peak coming into view, I wondered if we would go down the mountain or continue bouncing over these loose rocks up the peak. I hoped we would go down. Then I'd see a runner/hopper top that peak. Somewhere in this seemingly endless mess, someone released the mosquitoes. They swarmed my head and arms. I pulled my buff around my face and head. A couple people passed me here. I wanted this to be over and the only thing I could do to make that happen was to keep moving. So I kept moving, jumping from loose rock to loose rock with cramping feet and legs. But this is why we do these things. To keep moving when we shouldn't, or when we don't want to. To move through these things. And to interact with whatever the trail gives us that specific day. To breathe it all in while moving. For me, it's the best way to find the spirit of the now, as well, to dive into the moment, to surrender to it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zeXZanlxpaC37iPR-3MLgErhRoGjyvBotKIiqEtIbZMikXCufQAM7cGfWKrmPeCzQ2cJpIXXiK2_IzGLtk4H4BF-glShZ3bAELd274GPf2BWFwoQnA_WdruwOI6EYvJ54OMnVUvJYFg/s1600/IMGP1211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zeXZanlxpaC37iPR-3MLgErhRoGjyvBotKIiqEtIbZMikXCufQAM7cGfWKrmPeCzQ2cJpIXXiK2_IzGLtk4H4BF-glShZ3bAELd274GPf2BWFwoQnA_WdruwOI6EYvJ54OMnVUvJYFg/s1600/IMGP1211.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
And then, the trail markers turned into arrows, leading us steeply down off the mountain. I was grabbing trees and rocks to slow myself down. I buttslid some. It felt great to be moving quicker. Soon I was at the last aid station and it was time to pull out my headlamp. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJviLMCS7K9Ky18-KmBySxQgbnHrfx_15wZz2BWP6epaXBL6oLkhqH5PXWLT5D7PfGz5XvWI6r6-JBAJq-vK1R9sgchsVhmaXDUeLn0ZfiCd8R5TnQ2R-X5G6GD784FoGAM1CVaQOP1PI/s1600/IMGP1229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJviLMCS7K9Ky18-KmBySxQgbnHrfx_15wZz2BWP6epaXBL6oLkhqH5PXWLT5D7PfGz5XvWI6r6-JBAJq-vK1R9sgchsVhmaXDUeLn0ZfiCd8R5TnQ2R-X5G6GD784FoGAM1CVaQOP1PI/s1600/IMGP1229.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descend down this valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last aid station. 5 to go!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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A couple injured people were waiting here. I assume the scree(m)
fields had injured them. One of the directors showed up to carry them down and he asked
about me, wondering if I was injured. "I'm running down," I said, and
gave a big Woot! It was about ten o'clock. One of the volunteers showered me with bug spray and then I
was moving down the rocky four-wheeler road that followed a creek. The
sound of that rushing water sounded lovely in the dark. The road and I crossed streams a couple times and the cool water felt good.</div>
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The path left the road back to lovely, very runnable single track. The movement felt good. The moon, a "super moon," rose over the mountains behind me. It was like another brighter headlamp over my shoulder.</div>
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I love night running. I passed some kind of large animal that seemed to be aggressively wheezing and stomping its foot. I kept moving. I ran through a field of what I at first thought to be black rocks, but then noticed all the eyes reflected in my headlamp. The cows stood and moved around, all of them watching me run by with my strange light. Earlier in the day, in the scree field, I had wanted this thing to be over. Now, I didn't want the running to end with such a lovely night. But eventually I heard the sound of cowbells and music and saw lights (the finish line is at the director's cabin--how cool is that?). 17 hours and 16 minutes and I was finished, stuffing a sandwich into my face. That finish line area was a lovely place but I didn't stick around long because the shuttle was ready to give me a ride into town and almost full. The overriding sentiment in the van seemed to be, Wow! We really just did that! Wow! Although we got in and out of the van slowly, there seemed to be a shared sense of bliss on that ride.</div>
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<b>Looking Back</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The race directors did an amazing job with this. They collected some amazing volunteers. They set up a stunning course with great and clear markings. They had all the details covered yet were flexible and low key. And they wanted us runners to have fun. We did.</div>
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After the race, walking gingerly across the parking lot at the shuttle dropoff, I considered a new rule: No long runs until the chafing from the previous one is completely gone. Not even a trace. But that's just silly. I'll take a little tenderness for the memories this day created.</div>
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I hope this race continues far into the future. I'm grateful I was able to get there and experience it.</div>
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<br />Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-61258210886010796092014-07-01T19:34:00.000-07:002014-07-02T06:51:54.174-07:00Black Hills 100, June 2014<div style="text-align: justify;">
We spent a few days before the run in the Black Hills area. Lisa's brother and his family were there at the same time and we had a blast with them. Lisa and I stayed a couple nights in Custer State Park and a couple nights in Deadwood. Two days before the race, I celebrated eight years of continuous sobriety (wow! never imagined that one). This was a lovely getaway for us.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ttU93zhKBS3y81UyzrZOJm1Iw2-XnlB3CV1QpcG3oLLDg0HKASot2H7JLM17EynjpRguM2zv0s0XAj0Px16nR4drPx-dEBhy3Vkuos3DmbG23OWU9AsQuJEVjUQzIjmgTZuM26eSbrQ/s1600/P6250161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ttU93zhKBS3y81UyzrZOJm1Iw2-XnlB3CV1QpcG3oLLDg0HKASot2H7JLM17EynjpRguM2zv0s0XAj0Px16nR4drPx-dEBhy3Vkuos3DmbG23OWU9AsQuJEVjUQzIjmgTZuM26eSbrQ/s1600/P6250161.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa and the Bunde clan at the top of Harney Peak</td></tr>
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It was raining on the drive to Sturgis from Deadwood on race day. It had rained much of the day before too. At Woodle Field, the race start, we hung out in the car watching the rain. I made it to a group of outhouses near the track, and discovered too late, that the one I had chosen had no toilet paper. It was facing the opposite direction from the crowd waiting in line, so with my pants down I peeked in the next toilet (it was empty). No paper there either. What to do? I considered my socks. I asked the crowd for help and received a knock and a hand through the door with paper towels. That's community. We trail runners look out for each other.</div>
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The rain subsided by start time, 6 am. An hour earlier, the Tatanka 100, a mountain bike race, had begun here too and would ride the same first 50 miles of trail that we did. The Tatanka course is a loop, while the Black Hills 100 is an out and back along the beautiful Centennial Trail from Sturgis to the turnaround at Silver City. A 50 mile and 100k run all began together with the 100 miler, and we left the track, followed sidewalk out of town, ran through a tunnel under a road and were on the Centennial Trail.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiys9o9301Ukc7L-kC3qeO8KkhpzBim-OpDOZvKL6V_lyUhj8oo_vXEjtzMyBSsrAekcgvcJiSZn4qMQ4fjdez5P0VNJRrtb7WCxxaV0aWQSk-sFdJ3TzyGTO2MqtULh7ITU_whFD3CMMo/s1600/IMGP0761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiys9o9301Ukc7L-kC3qeO8KkhpzBim-OpDOZvKL6V_lyUhj8oo_vXEjtzMyBSsrAekcgvcJiSZn4qMQ4fjdez5P0VNJRrtb7WCxxaV0aWQSk-sFdJ3TzyGTO2MqtULh7ITU_whFD3CMMo/s1600/IMGP0761.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race start with Lisa. She is awesome. I am lucky, blessed.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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My main goals for this race were to:</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
1. Finish.</div>
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2. Remain positive and spread that positivity as much as possible--to enjoy it.</div>
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3. Run smart. Go out at a reasonable pace. I've never done that in a 100. I'm excitable.</div>
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4. Eat real food as much as possible. </div>
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5. To move quickly through the aid stations, to not linger. </div>
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My concern was making the cutoffs. I've only finished two of these, both last year, Zumbro and Superior, and neither were done below the 32 hour cutoff of Black Hills.</div>
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We had lovely views of Bear Butte as we left the Sturgis area and began climbing our way into the hills.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpLVEzwlHOzSkrYQ3yo9_PIXZximcWLaRpxZWWNwAEm34wc7ruya4yStY45ftkw7lC3gL5SdJ7AIJ9NXfFBDs05h43Z-BsMPTAg9PEz7FOsK_XdGBWxQOZCl15BIH8KM2Y2fywkq9JNc/s1600/IMGP0773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpLVEzwlHOzSkrYQ3yo9_PIXZximcWLaRpxZWWNwAEm34wc7ruya4yStY45ftkw7lC3gL5SdJ7AIJ9NXfFBDs05h43Z-BsMPTAg9PEz7FOsK_XdGBWxQOZCl15BIH8KM2Y2fywkq9JNc/s1600/IMGP0773.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear Butte</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was fun to chat with people around me. In the past, I would get talking to someone at the start and end up running faster than I should, not paying attention to pace. Today I reminded myself to take it easy, to run my own damn run.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpz_LoR1STy0jw5BWSp6VNvmvgll_aw3VOdey-v8jfBWYoEt9wzdt4pcH1EQYsWEsMcsaBZrLXJv0w_Hxn8LXnJoE5b8i0c4dzD9hl2iyICMfjehNNZBTfCfC_JQPJxd8QG9j4r8DrGY/s1600/IMGP0769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpz_LoR1STy0jw5BWSp6VNvmvgll_aw3VOdey-v8jfBWYoEt9wzdt4pcH1EQYsWEsMcsaBZrLXJv0w_Hxn8LXnJoE5b8i0c4dzD9hl2iyICMfjehNNZBTfCfC_JQPJxd8QG9j4r8DrGY/s1600/IMGP0769.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gnarly Jordan</td></tr>
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I settled in around a couple other Minnesotans, John Taylor and Scott Huston. This was John's 61st 100 or longer race! We could all learn plenty from him about recovering from these things, and he confirmed one thing I've suspected, something very obvious, which is that diet plays an important factor. In no time we were through Alkali Creek, the first aid station. I screamed Woo! and grabbed water and a banana and kept moving.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHTu9H5kPr_YaJ6zdru8jUQ0BINDXi4OiKfS0cQ1-E2qOM4RpKVWztbq9gz4NsLxY-ZRLf0MFHIchQp_IEClAr64Oyv70iVUoEZMI3Oci_SwVniDQhIDFiiq_OKsW1sWAOQw6BIKxLiQ/s1600/IMGP0777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHTu9H5kPr_YaJ6zdru8jUQ0BINDXi4OiKfS0cQ1-E2qOM4RpKVWztbq9gz4NsLxY-ZRLf0MFHIchQp_IEClAr64Oyv70iVUoEZMI3Oci_SwVniDQhIDFiiq_OKsW1sWAOQw6BIKxLiQ/s1600/IMGP0777.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following John and Scott</td></tr>
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The course was wet. I was surprised that the mountain bikers ahead of us hadn't shredded the trails to pieces--in most places I couldn't tell they had been through. The Bulldog aid station popped up all of a sudden. I grabbed water, a banana, a quarter of a peanut butter jelly sandwich and kept moving.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlJDdrZTyAxbxjHk5DriCNoOUz0c5Y5CudqvqXT5d7odMlWBqhslDIyiV-dYThervO8Xk1Cy3DVetolr3rjSBwLrFnIfkOqPW0edWNjumPi95mvmCwMhYk8VU9DzRBJjlywlioNnnXWA/s1600/IMGP0784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlJDdrZTyAxbxjHk5DriCNoOUz0c5Y5CudqvqXT5d7odMlWBqhslDIyiV-dYThervO8Xk1Cy3DVetolr3rjSBwLrFnIfkOqPW0edWNjumPi95mvmCwMhYk8VU9DzRBJjlywlioNnnXWA/s1600/IMGP0784.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mushroom that looks like a burger bun</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
At the Elk Creek aid station (17 miles) I ate a couple Endurolytes, a banana and watermelon. I ate a lot of fruit throughout the run, watermelon, cantaloupe, and bananas. I also drank soup broth at the later aid stations. These things appealed to me and stayed down easy. I only ate the salt pills a couple more times, and I ate about 3-4 Gu's (salted caramel) throughout the run. I had mixed Tailwind in my water bladders and that seemed to give me most of what I needed with the fruit and the broth.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNiIUneQHGvLUtwhKDxl2fjn4zUTWSmz8o9XfvPmAnQ26QU0iFc1kJiigaEZBxpdYyc2M1ydh-lirAUWSvXV5D3EYDuymBLZLfNImUm6mlO5sdhg9W059gCe1q1ZKH9iF9CMzH6BxRos/s1600/IMGP0790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNiIUneQHGvLUtwhKDxl2fjn4zUTWSmz8o9XfvPmAnQ26QU0iFc1kJiigaEZBxpdYyc2M1ydh-lirAUWSvXV5D3EYDuymBLZLfNImUm6mlO5sdhg9W059gCe1q1ZKH9iF9CMzH6BxRos/s1600/IMGP0790.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Centennial Trail</td></tr>
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Immediately after Elk Creek aid station there were five creek crossings within a mile or so. The creek was flowing and cold at thigh level, with ropes tied off to help us get across. I've never done these before and was worried about proper etiquette. Was I supposed to let the person ahead cross all the way before grabbing the rope?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeMEqIxbL1q4LZ5GLi4u-Cr65lmIeVLVGzb-xLFMAuT6rjIDvSmjZtSSsj54RETjhNXZK5LfXoGuNN5G_UquRtl1VNp6ltBkqmHnw6jkOPe_W132grrgY7y08naIVGdiTl6kg1uTkgMc/s1600/IMGP0802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSeMEqIxbL1q4LZ5GLi4u-Cr65lmIeVLVGzb-xLFMAuT6rjIDvSmjZtSSsj54RETjhNXZK5LfXoGuNN5G_UquRtl1VNp6ltBkqmHnw6jkOPe_W132grrgY7y08naIVGdiTl6kg1uTkgMc/s1600/IMGP0802.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing Elk Creek</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
I met a dejected bike racer heading back on one of these crossings. The mud had been too much for her, or at least for her bike. On the last crossing, the stream branched out in multiple directions. Somehow, without intending to, I ended up sitting down in the middle of the current. My feet left me. I held tight to the rope. The cold water felt awesome and I popped up and kept moving.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipbqmo9g_WqHa8UJJPxHUbPZRbXorj_R3IXQaBhtpXLgiMhy8XTThtZ2XnC6vfvs8zjLq9zCh1TmcBiPsHZu7e3pqOSFGruUXvv5lcbr-Kl7swIjArzREXr78Ky08vw0LAjcXv3qEIJY/s1600/IMGP0804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipbqmo9g_WqHa8UJJPxHUbPZRbXorj_R3IXQaBhtpXLgiMhy8XTThtZ2XnC6vfvs8zjLq9zCh1TmcBiPsHZu7e3pqOSFGruUXvv5lcbr-Kl7swIjArzREXr78Ky08vw0LAjcXv3qEIJY/s1600/IMGP0804.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elk Creek</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
After the creek crossings, the trail was full of mud in the bottoms. It was irritating and took some energy to get through it. I'm not complaining, as we take what the trail gives us each time and do with it what we can. I was surprised to pass another biker here who was clearly struggling with the mud. It was nice to climb out of the bottoms. The trail was dryer in the hills. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XmfV2KMG-4i2XGPLCBunddnWWKOBbziJOXiuqXzm47Vvevc9if1GUMlmfpkfCLeyQT4AMUpNGgLTuCOu-XVS0CEJ69S2bb113RcigXmTh-pwWPAq149o5kouY-LuY2kGDFX0Uxyz5nQ/s1600/IMGP0814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XmfV2KMG-4i2XGPLCBunddnWWKOBbziJOXiuqXzm47Vvevc9if1GUMlmfpkfCLeyQT4AMUpNGgLTuCOu-XVS0CEJ69S2bb113RcigXmTh-pwWPAq149o5kouY-LuY2kGDFX0Uxyz5nQ/s1600/IMGP0814.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crooked tree that inspires the race logo.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Xt-GoMOYpHNJybiRS4JPu6Ss8zzgCD82sjLKdWFBGMwyyWGlYPmOV5AFcZdthzJSBiN4J6Pii9lINgWc0ytr-AhZcsGCbPyC0aFYIKNMoamUhQor1GfWvd8m_NVjhIFzraHuX7Ew-Kk/s1600/IMGP0809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Xt-GoMOYpHNJybiRS4JPu6Ss8zzgCD82sjLKdWFBGMwyyWGlYPmOV5AFcZdthzJSBiN4J6Pii9lINgWc0ytr-AhZcsGCbPyC0aFYIKNMoamUhQor1GfWvd8m_NVjhIFzraHuX7Ew-Kk/s1600/IMGP0809.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Somewhere around the Crooked Tree aid station we saw the leaders of the 50 mile run returning. This is what I love about out and back courses, seeing everyone in all the races moving through and also getting a sense of where I am in the overall scene. I tried to give them all a big loud Woo!</div>
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Coming down the long hill leading to the Dalton Lake aid station, I met a guy from Sioux City. For the next few aid stations we would leap frog and I would call him "Sioux City" and he would call me "Mankato." He was a fun guy and I could tell from talking to him briefly that he would finish this. I recognized this aid station as a place my son and I had camped and fished at several ago. I added gaiters to my shoes here and drank some Coke.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8UoiZ-OveI2MjFJVtE3lHFWHWPDmjqHuaq2KwQSasZKsOTNzapvfZ2Tyt5vsRvayy7w4L358tiaeFjaEbzFy6Tk3AwQINvgL-jlnL5a4Bqx0g7eKALh31Qz1Vf7D6vb4yAk6o8u8BEU/s1600/IMGP0821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8UoiZ-OveI2MjFJVtE3lHFWHWPDmjqHuaq2KwQSasZKsOTNzapvfZ2Tyt5vsRvayy7w4L358tiaeFjaEbzFy6Tk3AwQINvgL-jlnL5a4Bqx0g7eKALh31Qz1Vf7D6vb4yAk6o8u8BEU/s1600/IMGP0821.JPG" height="210" width="320" /></a></div>
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The next section climbed up again and then, somewhere near the 100k turnaround, we were on the ATV trails, with large ruts full of water. At the first one, I tried to squeeze between the ruts and slid into the mud, performing a total faceplant mudbath, laughing as I got up and kept rolling forward. It seems I fall down at these things a lot. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insert face and body into puddle and roll around like Otis the pig.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ubtd9AfoN7sPaYAbUvlQ77Q2PbjgixblIqSKf5-VbIcoT4FMFPsbLjiJxUAXxVL4C28qnfaoiRG3sEo7CL5T9vw8UKM3exY5qgJf9kAA71Y1wt9iQYHdqN1SBC78XsYuIJ_6kBRVtW8/s1600/IMGP0837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ubtd9AfoN7sPaYAbUvlQ77Q2PbjgixblIqSKf5-VbIcoT4FMFPsbLjiJxUAXxVL4C28qnfaoiRG3sEo7CL5T9vw8UKM3exY5qgJf9kAA71Y1wt9iQYHdqN1SBC78XsYuIJ_6kBRVtW8/s1600/IMGP0837.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail markers</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He thinks we are racing each other.</td></tr>
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After the Nemo aid station (mile 36), the trails had several dirt bikers and four wheel riders. At one point the dirt bikers were helping a lady who had fallen off her four wheeler. Her face was bloody and the back of her head was soaked with blood. I felt helpless because there was nothing I could do for her, but they were slowly getting her out of there and she seemed able to ride on the back of the thing. My legs were getting sore along here. I was slowing down. I also saw the leaders of the race in this section, the first one coming by as I was wetting my face and head from a stream that crossed the trail. Somewhere around here I saw Ed Thomas on his return. He would be paced by Maranda Lorraine and it was good to have met them both (we've been at many of the same races). Those ninjas have great energy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPv_MeFry6q487j2XgY1sGDYsqywYrfVubMtev5PM7J-Qboy7CAPsQPESh9dYjvUBQUolutNk4-X8M0q_w1-A7wv6HCQ_eHhDWlo-42C26Rn7nU8iHoJSDRp-hP1UUE-8GRGNZQ9K1v8k/s1600/DSCN0626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPv_MeFry6q487j2XgY1sGDYsqywYrfVubMtev5PM7J-Qboy7CAPsQPESh9dYjvUBQUolutNk4-X8M0q_w1-A7wv6HCQ_eHhDWlo-42C26Rn7nU8iHoJSDRp-hP1UUE-8GRGNZQ9K1v8k/s1600/DSCN0626.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Leaving the Pilot Knob aid station, I looked around and remembered being here years ago, biking in the snow with a friend. My legs were really hurting now. I wondered if it had something to do with the higher elevation than I'm used to. I saw John Maas on his return leg--that gnarly bandit just ran Kettle Moraine and was smiling. By the time I hit the turn around about 12.5 hours into this I was a mess. I need to sit down for awhile. I needed to regroup. Lisa is so awesome at these aid stations. I felt this kind of drunk love for her through the next 50 miles. I refused to tell her how I was feeling about her because I felt like a schoolboy and she would have one more thing to tease me about.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWCICJfEd_0_R2E6mJMOwNBxKQEmSln2JT1C3g5kT5K6KgaGw7UzPUHqEKd6uRHZ8iJnW_sUSoe_HY8ULyRktSzCtYsflg9ChJJ-vCndKb3dYBle5OWayXp9EKwbgMEhnsxty4UUZAg8/s1600/IMGP0850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWCICJfEd_0_R2E6mJMOwNBxKQEmSln2JT1C3g5kT5K6KgaGw7UzPUHqEKd6uRHZ8iJnW_sUSoe_HY8ULyRktSzCtYsflg9ChJJ-vCndKb3dYBle5OWayXp9EKwbgMEhnsxty4UUZAg8/s1600/IMGP0850.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming into the beautiful valley at Silver City</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvD2DTfdaTvi26RbHCnaDZS0OfmCJSYwYRRUEs0OO1y-cbpk5lyIB4WBHh4hy0CmEfwpNwbT_xnajpqphoIR-B6XN3xMuUlUneHcdUiDWW68AtLNT8BYMoMs_ffTpFU0M-oKRkawNHM4M/s1600/IMG_7980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvD2DTfdaTvi26RbHCnaDZS0OfmCJSYwYRRUEs0OO1y-cbpk5lyIB4WBHh4hy0CmEfwpNwbT_xnajpqphoIR-B6XN3xMuUlUneHcdUiDWW68AtLNT8BYMoMs_ffTpFU0M-oKRkawNHM4M/s1600/IMG_7980.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Silver City</td></tr>
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The climb out of Silver City bit me hard and left me reeling for awhile. It was just cruel. I was light headed and sat down. Things really slowed down here. Maybe that's natural, as it was getting dark. I walked a lot. One thing that lifted my spirits was that the Bunde clan had come out to visit us at the Pilot Knob aid station. Long before I reached the aid station, I could hear the Bunde kids screaming Woo! in the dark. I needed that spiritual bump then. Later, Sioux City mentioned hearing our Bigfoot calls at that place.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcOcoyIzJQ3QM_7k0Xvqj8goyPthfeE6wL8R4C3cvrWQEJbza_G_yOtU_sePVI5tLBOysJy1Or8eG6DU9GU_US9QGyPZXB0F53cFNGMWZo-VxXO7nFrLf7WBNo63ad-v_8By2j87KbcU/s1600/IMGP0853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcOcoyIzJQ3QM_7k0Xvqj8goyPthfeE6wL8R4C3cvrWQEJbza_G_yOtU_sePVI5tLBOysJy1Or8eG6DU9GU_US9QGyPZXB0F53cFNGMWZo-VxXO7nFrLf7WBNo63ad-v_8By2j87KbcU/s1600/IMGP0853.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Hills lion found just before dark.</td></tr>
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I tried to embrace the pain in my legs. I tried to wrap myself around it and accept it as just another sensation. Maybe I did that. Maybe I just finally accepted it. Maybe I ran through it. I kept telling myself to simply run into the moment. Somehow I kept moving through this beautiful night. Coming into Nemo, hounds bayed in the distance and I imagined what strange things they thought of our quietly moving headlamps. In my light I saw the reflections of eyes of mice, bunnies and deer. A couple times I turned off the lamp and stared up at a perfectly clear sky. Once I sat on a log and rested my head in my hands, possibly fell asleep for six minutes before cramps had me dancing around the trail. At each aid station, Lisa was waiting for me, offering encouragement and cantaloupe and lifting my spirits.<br />
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The mud that was so irritating earlier had largely dried on our return. I ran much of one section with a lady from Pennsylvania who had broken her thumb earlier. A group of three of us had loosely connected headlights that seemed to hold each other together through that piece, even though I'm not sure who the third headlight belonged to, can't put a name or face or gender or anything to it. It was simply a light, moving just behind me, that in some ways helped keep me moving too.<br />
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There is something about these things that draws me in, and that's the curiosity of what I might find within myself, deep in the night when things feel like they're falling apart. It's not necessarily a test, what I'm talking about. Perhaps it's nothing magic, but simply the astonishment to find that energy to keep moving forward. I know that for me what works is diving deep into the moment, into the now of the matter, and that becomes a special and eternal place.<br />
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At some point, from high up, I could see distant lights of Sturgis through a valley. It was beautiful. I knew it would be light soon. And when that light appeared in all its colors I felt reborn. I was moving! Those stream crossings were cold but I kept moving through them and at Elk Creek (mile 83) I was feeling so good. I changed into dry shoes and had some hot chocolate. I left the hiking poles I had used to get through the night with Lisa. I didn't want them slowing me down. I was ready to run and I was shocked at how fast I felt then.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMFoK7BPH0UAe3qGwQ0dkzaXmOqq4W5zLC0o1V8_yS-0uNyAc7DRbjRCgQDp6WppzCj9MqmCJn04ViRxx6COMtO-Cw8AzRogPTLp0WKP5WZsWFFX4xlKjM7l7z2untLZd67azaqjONaY/s1600/IMGP0856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMFoK7BPH0UAe3qGwQ0dkzaXmOqq4W5zLC0o1V8_yS-0uNyAc7DRbjRCgQDp6WppzCj9MqmCJn04ViRxx6COMtO-Cw8AzRogPTLp0WKP5WZsWFFX4xlKjM7l7z2untLZd67azaqjONaY/s1600/IMGP0856.JPG" height="166" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good morning cows (we had a nice discussion)</td></tr>
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At the Bulldog aid station I hardly stopped, took some water and bananas and asked if there was anyone ahead whom I could play chase with. I was really opening up, especially on the long downhill sections. I didn't know where this energy had come from but I felt like I was floating.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsiEAOXexMAbOSOGts0_Ns4HtT1QpkJaM9ADFuJ1WkijYuwZ8H5QkT0cXMsivg0DXRc3l4eZtw3GXZ9aM6qxlJMdvpyOgD7n76JHnvFpDEBlYhFzt64uApSFUC60YgHJyDvyyLcApeZY/s1600/IMGP0791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsiEAOXexMAbOSOGts0_Ns4HtT1QpkJaM9ADFuJ1WkijYuwZ8H5QkT0cXMsivg0DXRc3l4eZtw3GXZ9aM6qxlJMdvpyOgD7n76JHnvFpDEBlYhFzt64uApSFUC60YgHJyDvyyLcApeZY/s1600/IMGP0791.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDmAWPewHpUmvG8whyphenhyphenYpWLaWLqm7zbJlj4802zAWFtfkdLe6RqeAKVl6yccr3gLNz3puAR_PuyJvCeVCjCW8X753B5p4MV0xUAsPmW5oh0EkWsv-bOX8oo7wGQY5uRrIS6lrOYQ7IpfQ/s1600/IMGP0857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDmAWPewHpUmvG8whyphenhyphenYpWLaWLqm7zbJlj4802zAWFtfkdLe6RqeAKVl6yccr3gLNz3puAR_PuyJvCeVCjCW8X753B5p4MV0xUAsPmW5oh0EkWsv-bOX8oo7wGQY5uRrIS6lrOYQ7IpfQ/s1600/IMGP0857.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I found a few people along the way, and most seemed to be moving pretty well too.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The return views of Bear Butte were amazing.</td></tr>
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Just after Alkali Creek (mile 94) I caught up to Sioux City. I was so happy to see him. It was like finding a long lost friend after years apart! We shuffled along together. I learned his real name is Taylor. What a delightful character he was to run with. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tunnel under the highway. Almost there.</td></tr>
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Lisa and nephew Evan had come out to meet me--at Alkali Creek I had asked her to please run in with me as a team. That great energy I had found earlier was definitely waning but I was having such a blast. How can a person not be completely ecstatic when the end of this is in sight?</div>
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This one felt so good. 29 hours and 4 minutes was my finishing time. I'm so blessed to be able to do this thing I love, and to be able to do it with awesome people around me and with Lisa too. I usually fall into things in my life, perhaps I get lucky with things, but I feel like I actually ran a smart(ish) race this time! And I had so much fun doing it. As usual, I'm so impressed by all those who showed up for the attempt at this thing. And the volunteers who helped us get there. And as always, I'm so grateful for Lisa.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I barely made it out of the parking lot awake.</td></tr>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-82037567040579673022014-05-21T06:18:00.002-07:002014-05-21T11:38:21.674-07:00Isle Royale, Minong Trail, First Boat 2014<div style="text-align: justify;">
Richard Templin and I took the Voyageur II's first trip to the island on May 14. Most of the passengers were MooseWatch volunteers. We had a nice visit with Candy Peterson, who has spent many many summers on the island studying moose and wolves. She was such a kind and gentle lady. No one was at the Windigo Ranger Station yet, so we stayed on the boat while some passengers unloaded. </div>
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We were curious to see if we would get into McCargoe Cove, our dropoff point. It was ice free and a beautiful day full of blue sky when we landed there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aboard the Voyageur II</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McCargoe Cove shelter</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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We took a nice long run on some trails (see previous blog). We saw a fox who posed for us and we saw some great views of southern lakes and the Greenstone Ridge.<br />
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It got cold that night, as it did the rest of the nights too. Brr-three-pairs-of-socks-and-don't-get-out-of-your-sleeping-bag kind of cold.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McCargoe Cove evening</td></tr>
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The next day we started our journey westward down the Minong Trail, but this would be our shortest mileage day so we took our time getting moving. My legs weren't completely there yet.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WpWxgXMWYNHRC_fRl_cfkPfgIV7QwjNwn5NGajMSnfhhx62FSvGHkXZuNpoqcupVYMVryql47UPQkvgaPMExKJby7CkxS7M4el5dmEw3BeVzeuvmVPn6cIIRmkZ9ptgEXQNTo2jInb0/s1600/IMG_3769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WpWxgXMWYNHRC_fRl_cfkPfgIV7QwjNwn5NGajMSnfhhx62FSvGHkXZuNpoqcupVYMVryql47UPQkvgaPMExKJby7CkxS7M4el5dmEw3BeVzeuvmVPn6cIIRmkZ9ptgEXQNTo2jInb0/s1600/IMG_3769.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minong Mine</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minong Trail</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Group site at Todd Harbor</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocks</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzOA_OQmHUJklzfsYjOHxIdsof_HfdKQ2xZKz-nIoHkJnbsNwj7XzpXPpDAXNH3fod-LrIbHlKaXb5oTEhZ9NWx40Jva7Pa_ablyb496d5pRjm26y_VJPDYVuE3ZsAzx92GtVtFU5wPI/s1600/P5150149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzOA_OQmHUJklzfsYjOHxIdsof_HfdKQ2xZKz-nIoHkJnbsNwj7XzpXPpDAXNH3fod-LrIbHlKaXb5oTEhZ9NWx40Jva7Pa_ablyb496d5pRjm26y_VJPDYVuE3ZsAzx92GtVtFU5wPI/s1600/P5150149.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stream beyond the Haytown Mine at Todd Harbor</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But his eyes look so serious.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the Todd harbor group sites. I love this tree.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shoe drying. I accidentally burned my Montrails.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Todd Harbor sunset</td></tr>
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We had Todd Harbor to ourselves, except for a fox, some loons, mergansers, ducks, squirrels, etc. Probably some moose we didn't see. We explored the Haytown Mine area and the shore around the group camp sites in the afternoon while the sun tried to come out. We had a fire and tried to dry our socks and shoes. It was a lovely spot to sit and watch the sun go down, and once Rich got that fire going, we didn't stray far from its heat.</div>
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Friday's hike from Todd Harbor to North Desor Lake got long. The first half to Little Todd Harbor is mostly a straight line and we made good time. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evil creek crossing just east of Little Todd Harbor.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doh!</td></tr>
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Rich was waiting for me at the Little Todd junction with rice and beans cooking.</div>
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The second half of Friday's hike, Little Todd Harbor to North Desor Lake, is my favorite section of trail on Isle Royale. Most of it travels the top of the Minong Ridge and the views of the Greenstone Ridge and the Canadian shoreline are dramatic and beautiful, with cooling breezes, but it's an up and down hike that will grind your legs down and make you question those luxury items in your pack. It's one of my favorite playgrounds.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minong Ridge, hat head</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minong Ridge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canada from Minong Ridge</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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That walk into the North Desor Lake campsite is a lovely and welcome one. It's so different with no leaves on the aspen trees.<br />
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We tried to dry our clothes. The wind off the lake was cold, of course. <br />
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Filtering water, I watched otters swim by and poke their heads out of the lake. Neither Rich nor I made it to nightfall awake.</div>
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Saturday morning was our last day of hiking, the long haul to Windigo. Again, Rich took off well before I did--I'm a slow riser when the only source of heat is myself and it's cold out there. But once the sun came out, Saturday gave us perfect hiking weather. About a mile from the campsite, I (and Rich before me) came across a moose. She didn't seem concerned at all by my presence, and I slowly made a wide circle around her.</div>
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The hike to Windigo was good. Rich and I both fell backwards into the mud at different times. It happened to me crossing one of the beaver dams. We were grateful for pink ribbons the rangers had tied to trees in the fire damaged section--without them we would most likely still be there. Even more trees have blown down here over the winter.</div>
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After a dam crossing I followed a moose trail instead of the Minong Trail and found myself in a slough, jumping around to keep my feet dry. I backtracked and covered the moose trail with sticks and downed shrubs so others wouldn't follow. We met a couple groups of eastbound hikers as we got closer to Washington Harbor--they were the first hikers we had seen.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The end of the Minong. Yay!</td></tr>
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We had plenty of time to explore before the Voyageur picked us up on Sunday. Sunday morning Rich went for a run and I chose a slower paced walk and took lots of pictures.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scarlet tanager</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowshoe hare changing into its summer outfit</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speedy</td></tr>
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A class of seventh graders from Iowa was staying in the group camp sites and rode the boat back with us. One of my current goals is to get people who are alcoholism and drug addiction survivors like myself to places like this to experience the healing and transformative power of nature and magic places and self-sustainability and all that stuff. It was fun talking to the organizers and Ranger Val about this. I'm grateful they got to experience the island. I'm also grateful I got to experience it, and grateful for the company of Richard. Can't wait to go back, as always.</div>
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<br />Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-30000941591414046182014-05-19T08:52:00.000-07:002014-05-19T08:52:13.225-07:00Trail Run on Isle Royale<div style="text-align: justify;">
Isle Royale is a US National Park, a forty-mile long island in Lake Superior designated as a United Nations biosphere reserve. Except for visits by a very few researchers who study the island's wolf and moose populations, the park is closed in the winter. Rich Templin and I took the first boat from Grand Portage, MN to the island on May 14, 2014.</div>
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Most of the passengers on the Voyageur II were MooseWatch volunteers and scientists. After dropping some people off at the Windigo Ranger station, the boat took us around the north side of the island and dropped us off at the McCargoe Cove Campground. We were happy to be there--the captain had asked us for an alternate drop-off location in case the ice stopped us from getting into McCargoe Cove, but the water was open all the way to the campground dock. On the map below, the McCargoe Cove campground is the tent symbol that says "no alcohol" just east of the Minong Mine. </div>
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We set our packs in a shelter and changed into our running clothes. We had some idea of what we were going to run, but didn't fully commit to our loop until halfway through the run. The loop we ran started at McCargoe Cove campground, went south through West Chickenbone and Lake Richie, east through Moskey Basin and Daisy Farm, up the western leg to the Greenstone Ridege, and back through East Chickenbone. It was roughly 21 miles through awesome trail that no one had yet traveled for the season, trail that had not been cleared, through patches of snow, mud, and water and lots of blown over trees. It was amazing.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McCargoe Cove shelter</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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After throwing some water and snacks in a backpack, I decided to leave the pack in the shelter and run free. After a mile or so, we realized we had too many clothes on and left our sleeves and jackets on a tree limb at the Chickenbone portage. </div>
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Skunk cabbage was abundant, sometimes even pushing up through the snow.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail with boardwalk</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boardwalk selfie</td></tr>
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We were running in the shoes we would be hiking in (although I had a backup pair), so keeping them dry was important, and eventually impossible. We were grateful for boardwalks when they were there. These boardwalks are used by more animals than people--we often saw fox, rabbit, even wolf scat on them. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail without boardwalk (normally dry here, I imagine)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some snow in spots</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKc8OjJCwFmf_yYS-HHdyq3wkp4Nm8r0vt7vXDsPLRvYBFJtY_-YmeINdE2ktbVbA9bsXcw3Jijx90wDkIokQx9G2U28H2WgwrLZUSXBWjD97ivu2GL1ymUpFFYDkl_qcqRYXEizO9bM/s1600/IMGP0499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKc8OjJCwFmf_yYS-HHdyq3wkp4Nm8r0vt7vXDsPLRvYBFJtY_-YmeINdE2ktbVbA9bsXcw3Jijx90wDkIokQx9G2U28H2WgwrLZUSXBWjD97ivu2GL1ymUpFFYDkl_qcqRYXEizO9bM/s1600/IMGP0499.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Richie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWV__xvjTsZ0hdNGfCKGS6o3avJFjSG59faZzbnDZfgCj9V1A0kMOx-NBQaPc6UzvMEd3RdFOpEZmhSmhBnQlZXx6_NiwUKUa51cFpk_8lQC2ALWpEt_yaU0Cn-894a3wUPQ798AdtXV4/s1600/IMGP0502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWV__xvjTsZ0hdNGfCKGS6o3avJFjSG59faZzbnDZfgCj9V1A0kMOx-NBQaPc6UzvMEd3RdFOpEZmhSmhBnQlZXx6_NiwUKUa51cFpk_8lQC2ALWpEt_yaU0Cn-894a3wUPQ798AdtXV4/s1600/IMGP0502.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake <b>Rich</b>ie </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After Lake Richie, about six miles into the run, we both seemed to be feeling looser, and somewhere between there and Moskey Basin, at a water crossing, we committed to doing a full loop instead of some kind of out and back run.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafHRGlZb0wM3ETKMzihE_WPuDjfAX10kM2Nnh9WKDKyVYix8WeLw6Lk-da-qT_NiY5FrF0LxLETNGJ35_yIL8st61o27qlWroq-UAHrIZ6PwQCP6j1RgUxa3Oc1EiBCUImSlvN0O_iFg/s1600/IMGP0510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafHRGlZb0wM3ETKMzihE_WPuDjfAX10kM2Nnh9WKDKyVYix8WeLw6Lk-da-qT_NiY5FrF0LxLETNGJ35_yIL8st61o27qlWroq-UAHrIZ6PwQCP6j1RgUxa3Oc1EiBCUImSlvN0O_iFg/s1600/IMGP0510.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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This turtle was kind enough to move off the boardwalk for us, so Rich returned the favor and helped him back up. We also scared many snakes sunning on the trail, often just hearing them moving away through the grasses.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4slM16q9Rcy3BG0jL1ZN00jtkzHc_ALQma2vNeKrSkxtAdqU0DMzcQ7MyZ_KLqgiMcYnVly9RSvhM_jOqjpo06GZ8tyTUWT07cgINNBNWOGnFo3SZqGC2ha57Y6OeVaQQPr1YLkpJc6s/s1600/IMGP0517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4slM16q9Rcy3BG0jL1ZN00jtkzHc_ALQma2vNeKrSkxtAdqU0DMzcQ7MyZ_KLqgiMcYnVly9RSvhM_jOqjpo06GZ8tyTUWT07cgINNBNWOGnFo3SZqGC2ha57Y6OeVaQQPr1YLkpJc6s/s1600/IMGP0517.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Between Lake Richie and Moskey Basin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAqSouS_yrl5TVe5Nw771MxcHzE1aa2Lsmqw48upMnrhQFx6wlcOQhifPOycPU1RaZeCAZ7B7YPDyftEhkGv9Fl0cQ6zf42BsTXrV0Ie9dWCTk_bsFiU85GVVqjoA02nX3PN2taPki2g/s1600/IMGP0519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAqSouS_yrl5TVe5Nw771MxcHzE1aa2Lsmqw48upMnrhQFx6wlcOQhifPOycPU1RaZeCAZ7B7YPDyftEhkGv9Fl0cQ6zf42BsTXrV0Ie9dWCTk_bsFiU85GVVqjoA02nX3PN2taPki2g/s1600/IMGP0519.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moskey Basin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I love Moskey Basin and it was a real treat to get that lovely view.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Zy8gLygdJFHGvnQhHVDmJOnYQT-gXkAxyatzmbY1s0-hPE5TlhONhoPXlOOunN023R83zaAU3gkt9Axcosto9Dlp9bMYwOmulAMs-oZ1eO6HN2MW1F-bFo6iQyFpVAsa4ObD1kut4e8/s1600/IMGP0525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Zy8gLygdJFHGvnQhHVDmJOnYQT-gXkAxyatzmbY1s0-hPE5TlhONhoPXlOOunN023R83zaAU3gkt9Axcosto9Dlp9bMYwOmulAMs-oZ1eO6HN2MW1F-bFo6iQyFpVAsa4ObD1kut4e8/s1600/IMGP0525.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Between Moskey Basin and Daisy Farm we saw a fox just before it saw us. When it realized we were there, it sat down. It made a point of showing us that it was looking away from us once it realized what we were. At the Daisy Farm junction, we decided to move on and avoid the short leg to the campground. We were starting to worry about beating nightfall to our shelter.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvYJo79Y81AXlIe8QRras_1vcpH2K4A_OZPoRXZMmyaCZ2iZoPdglzIiBlmCSky8KSfKl1YxESudW7Puh5__bAzl8Hv6MAXWf_0o3evhWdZCPNJDTVuYRXX3eiAYmC50TqGfWM82vQQA/s1600/IMGP0532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvYJo79Y81AXlIe8QRras_1vcpH2K4A_OZPoRXZMmyaCZ2iZoPdglzIiBlmCSky8KSfKl1YxESudW7Puh5__bAzl8Hv6MAXWf_0o3evhWdZCPNJDTVuYRXX3eiAYmC50TqGfWM82vQQA/s1600/IMGP0532.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now we were running on more rock, less mud and water (although we still found plenty of those). As we climbed up toward the Greenstone Ridge, we scared off a couple of Sandhill Cranes. What huge wingspans they had! Somewhere on the climb to the Greenstone I asked Rich for water. At the shelter, I had packed water and snacks, a headlamp, even a filter, but then decided to leave it all and run free. I felt bad asking for water I wasn't carrying.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7noLz16Xme7fv1FMsZ6r3M9hhzkrApFWrF0_wJMxzp_YqCtPdvl_oYl1rjV5gjJxg50-R73x6qUGSYTBSL1eyAAbEoB1Arcjf0KbxRKV0X1Vf7IKsFcJO0z3LY2pQhcCp5IEMtbzv9A/s1600/IMGP0550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7noLz16Xme7fv1FMsZ6r3M9hhzkrApFWrF0_wJMxzp_YqCtPdvl_oYl1rjV5gjJxg50-R73x6qUGSYTBSL1eyAAbEoB1Arcjf0KbxRKV0X1Vf7IKsFcJO0z3LY2pQhcCp5IEMtbzv9A/s1600/IMGP0550.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We made it to the Greenstone Ridge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQiM08SFBoELhzTInYoUiKx34U8mwQ5-Hq-i_Dw-3mik056YDJZzc2SLJ6gzIWCBCniXCNDRM-9sWhdtUZS9UHc2p-TiWbGFDrM8P5v7bKiTK2BZDfRds2NCllEoAnohTTRTl88wjr4E/s1600/IMGP0552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQiM08SFBoELhzTInYoUiKx34U8mwQ5-Hq-i_Dw-3mik056YDJZzc2SLJ6gzIWCBCniXCNDRM-9sWhdtUZS9UHc2p-TiWbGFDrM8P5v7bKiTK2BZDfRds2NCllEoAnohTTRTl88wjr4E/s1600/IMGP0552.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sargent Lake and Canada in the distance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The running was, for the most part, smoother and faster on the Greenstone Ridge. The trail was more level and we were moving now, very aware of the setting sun we were running toward.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uwJFJfEApc0X2DNsWbFbG7oasOLHjlHpqOfbeUbD0dJbbKOa29YjrxTCTYPFykU70GczKCftWXdzh9PDYKppczBWt6XilLJnVEvdifKhon0_zS_eS1FqUJHn6wt9dFLpjJH5KAB1qzI/s1600/IMGP0554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uwJFJfEApc0X2DNsWbFbG7oasOLHjlHpqOfbeUbD0dJbbKOa29YjrxTCTYPFykU70GczKCftWXdzh9PDYKppczBWt6XilLJnVEvdifKhon0_zS_eS1FqUJHn6wt9dFLpjJH5KAB1qzI/s1600/IMGP0554.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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We saw lots of moose antlers.</div>
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It was a steep but welcome climb off the Greenstone Ridge. Snow made it slippery in spots. We ran some rolling terrain around the arms of Chickenbone Lake, then backtracked some to get our clothes. We made it back to camp with time to filter water and start a fire. We were thirsty, hungry, cold, and sore and it felt great. We ate our dehydrated dinners while enjoying a lovely sunset and moonrise.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFpMBunD-hJhXzp1WtpT60HbnNKW0q3008oPb_PGEk5Bbbw41Bbi8CTr3dfER9rJwUzD085oICGV1DSX8RDXAN4FdeykQI9el9muz8Ue1nT37ItkLs_bIJDeFLnh6LfbAzngOFEBFCfE/s1600/P5140102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFpMBunD-hJhXzp1WtpT60HbnNKW0q3008oPb_PGEk5Bbbw41Bbi8CTr3dfER9rJwUzD085oICGV1DSX8RDXAN4FdeykQI9el9muz8Ue1nT37ItkLs_bIJDeFLnh6LfbAzngOFEBFCfE/s1600/P5140102.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McCargoe Cove evening</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HqpJDvnmBUUtnbeK4RQoOim2R3Sb-mcu5MYz162jhBAhxKIa01dzJm6mCnL2pkL9jebDbmW8UChyphenhyphenjCizocJ0szjWHp1wWESL_MKdNQtOUNvWuyrw7-7-fqVSLqfHHylYCVGcQMZ1X18/s1600/P5140104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HqpJDvnmBUUtnbeK4RQoOim2R3Sb-mcu5MYz162jhBAhxKIa01dzJm6mCnL2pkL9jebDbmW8UChyphenhyphenjCizocJ0szjWHp1wWESL_MKdNQtOUNvWuyrw7-7-fqVSLqfHHylYCVGcQMZ1X18/s1600/P5140104.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McCargoe Cove evening</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8przyvdfPU5vzzUJkPEYdwMq46qsrLYDTqW0g0lI2IVnRRjWgg2CI7PqK03hlrOW-mEFkFVKtdPxfUEPP2ub1cpRrTVdcOJimo7-xDJi6KNrrt5817yHg0nUMd4oERqcQzNRncYrUUzQ/s1600/P5140121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8przyvdfPU5vzzUJkPEYdwMq46qsrLYDTqW0g0lI2IVnRRjWgg2CI7PqK03hlrOW-mEFkFVKtdPxfUEPP2ub1cpRrTVdcOJimo7-xDJi6KNrrt5817yHg0nUMd4oERqcQzNRncYrUUzQ/s1600/P5140121.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McCargoe Cove moonrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was a mighty cold night, but the fire was helpful. We tried to dry our shoes over it. The next day we would start our backpacking journey west over the Minong Trail. Over the campfire, we agreed that we would both like to run the island end to end sometime soon. But this run, being the first over these trails for the season, was a magic one.</div>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-88746215291564118402014-04-13T19:15:00.000-07:002014-04-14T07:30:32.180-07:00Zumbro 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdNydMBa4kN8ndSbcB_NmcpBUe8Y7DWh3OXgsd6WaCUOYjKtsUwZPd8ahewudeyvrrFN957hp4nYuHkIYE5Uz9MqYT0yGPDUJJVsJ_kVpMkw7KZ15etsZa7inyUGKWw_xDiO5xgoEmG4/s1600/IMGP0360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdNydMBa4kN8ndSbcB_NmcpBUe8Y7DWh3OXgsd6WaCUOYjKtsUwZPd8ahewudeyvrrFN957hp4nYuHkIYE5Uz9MqYT0yGPDUJJVsJ_kVpMkw7KZ15etsZa7inyUGKWw_xDiO5xgoEmG4/s1600/IMGP0360.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_1039906277"></span><span id="goog_1039906278"></span>I didn't finish.<br />
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I've crossed the finish of two hundred mile runs (2013 Zumbro and 2013 Superior) and I love the finish. It's an amazing feeling. But "I didn't finish" is not the defining statement of this run.</div>
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It's a six loop course. It's hilly and rocky and sandy and possibly icy and snowy and muddy. It's always beautiful. Race Director John Storkamp is an awesome guy and he and wife Cheri know how to throw a running party. It's a well-organized run, one that feels like a family reunion. We met some old friends and new friends at the pre-race hang-out time the night before, so many wonderful people.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvuW_Wg3AMIf9476l8FAq3O7SFwlm6UgeDkytip2ilXuZyT2OyWM-xRk9onJF7GMuHajnhdgJCKMPsQv_OKRyjb3O1hWGyqvIwm1ZzKqlrUnsxyzD-_SDyDCp7wgyM9kVmhdjBd5UD_8/s1600/IMGP0337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvuW_Wg3AMIf9476l8FAq3O7SFwlm6UgeDkytip2ilXuZyT2OyWM-xRk9onJF7GMuHajnhdgJCKMPsQv_OKRyjb3O1hWGyqvIwm1ZzKqlrUnsxyzD-_SDyDCp7wgyM9kVmhdjBd5UD_8/s1600/IMGP0337.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had three goals for race execution.<br />
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1. Don't start too fast. In both previous runs I've begun too fast. I'm impulsive and excitable.<br />
2. Eat more real food.<br />
3. Spend less time at aid stations.<br />
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I started way too fast. Maybe it was excitement. Maybe it was the beautiful spring weather. Maybe it was because I was having fun chatting with awesome people and just not paying attention. Maybe it was hubris. I'm sure it was stupid. The first loop clocked at somewhere around 3:15. For me that's pure stupid. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LpI66L29kms12aufWtSumjxZGJW-ggQoLrQnflFMG3ahcCB_538TiBSLG2q7ek-Z1WegjNDz0qan2qcWlWmnvSZhSkpFPqjI8NQ2pu-onZtH0cOmXdBzQCfAynY-r31nkZu3FfPgo-E/s1600/DSCN0140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LpI66L29kms12aufWtSumjxZGJW-ggQoLrQnflFMG3ahcCB_538TiBSLG2q7ek-Z1WegjNDz0qan2qcWlWmnvSZhSkpFPqjI8NQ2pu-onZtH0cOmXdBzQCfAynY-r31nkZu3FfPgo-E/s1600/DSCN0140.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Race Director is asking if I think a 3:15 first lap was a good idea. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
During that first loop the beautiful spring day had shown its face. I took off my sleeves and calf panties.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1hhy4N6TS_OrXLvbZzl1u2BvJP72Zn_YbhlPmH3hJi5xhOlDu3sXYFL_2OvQpscVqosaTGwXz5AXeE9CmL_g6QZjcMsgDKsTWfZACsApPavjIx68WTPIO8Vr2qCOycd98N2HVEoTLYA/s1600/DSCN0142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd1hhy4N6TS_OrXLvbZzl1u2BvJP72Zn_YbhlPmH3hJi5xhOlDu3sXYFL_2OvQpscVqosaTGwXz5AXeE9CmL_g6QZjcMsgDKsTWfZACsApPavjIx68WTPIO8Vr2qCOycd98N2HVEoTLYA/s1600/DSCN0142.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I reassessed my goals and added one (since I had ignored the first). For the next few loops I should simply run conservatively and consistently. Leaving the aid station, I realized that first loop had taken something from me. Quite a few times in loop 2 I heard Neil Young singing, "It's better to burn out, than it is to rust." I love Neil Young but he doesn't run ultras.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqie91LrvpZHVXi-Pk-PHtIHh16v8NnGckFchUMvVyt-aM6BbOsLl7Lpf0HV-zxpThOdD4zQ3oI91Ju8rR_KKuGYwDkRjd76Db6BDPa95xRDZivp0_IkRXwIncI3-nqAsmRe198tAK74/s1600/IMGP0369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqie91LrvpZHVXi-Pk-PHtIHh16v8NnGckFchUMvVyt-aM6BbOsLl7Lpf0HV-zxpThOdD4zQ3oI91Ju8rR_KKuGYwDkRjd76Db6BDPa95xRDZivp0_IkRXwIncI3-nqAsmRe198tAK74/s1600/IMGP0369.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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This race is incredibly dog friendly. The aid station dogs were the best and I got to know them all really well. They were very happy each time I came back. They were curious about what I chose to eat. They sang. They did the things dogs do and it was comforting to have them around.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOs1EfmXZkfrd-eH-a3ywKJutbQcqzJe8epmHHRxWouR9TEOkfOSRRBToyOKEW0BxMZ6TwxfGpQakGtjKUGgj-G4cgpmUr5Hvg5iHjZs6zCbJNksAP8eg45L5SWyHzGFTtjwEUASXJOPQ/s1600/DSCN0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOs1EfmXZkfrd-eH-a3ywKJutbQcqzJe8epmHHRxWouR9TEOkfOSRRBToyOKEW0BxMZ6TwxfGpQakGtjKUGgj-G4cgpmUr5Hvg5iHjZs6zCbJNksAP8eg45L5SWyHzGFTtjwEUASXJOPQ/s1600/DSCN0108.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Loop 2 began to hurt. I remembered that the section between AS 1 and 2 is, for me, the most difficult section. At a place called Picnic Rock I threw up (or was that on loop 3?). But I had fun too. I loved the sounds of the frogs in the lowland swamps and the high ridge views. The breeze was perfect as things were warming up. Someone told me to consider sunblock. I ate some grilled cheese. I saw Lisa at several aid stations. She's amazing. And inspiring.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJiD81IhGWsJjhP1AmK65jOv5dXIdxWu2s9g5uvOSXz1pOI0TExi56FZ2B1RfcJmKgs6kGRdTDxi8R7hDcGpDGnK8RMoDR6tJIrHuzIQ44H82OjYM5G2idPqXL02vgYqddZ1W5bLVV3b4/s1600/IMGP0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJiD81IhGWsJjhP1AmK65jOv5dXIdxWu2s9g5uvOSXz1pOI0TExi56FZ2B1RfcJmKgs6kGRdTDxi8R7hDcGpDGnK8RMoDR6tJIrHuzIQ44H82OjYM5G2idPqXL02vgYqddZ1W5bLVV3b4/s1600/IMGP0347.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Loop 3 continued to hurt. I continued to have fun. My mantra was "consistent and conservative." Memory gets fuzzy. I told Lisa she was in charge of my brain. It rained just long enough for me to pull out my rain jacket. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLc6bdfErzxJOaGaEbc988_pf1TwrCoqzoOGxcYBlq5t1884bAvW45I0vk8N6RHSU9onj8a19Xf04XmXl2cp_ckvWDCgD6GmYk2T_GACDi2mgN99P5ZGEfwItjbgVzuUQKlI4dKTPR7SY/s1600/IMGP0364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLc6bdfErzxJOaGaEbc988_pf1TwrCoqzoOGxcYBlq5t1884bAvW45I0vk8N6RHSU9onj8a19Xf04XmXl2cp_ckvWDCgD6GmYk2T_GACDi2mgN99P5ZGEfwItjbgVzuUQKlI4dKTPR7SY/s1600/IMGP0364.JPG" height="247" width="320" /></a></div>
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I sat down at AS 3 for a few minutes. I can't get over how accommodating all those volunteers at each station were. "What do you need?" was their standard greeting, and if I didn't know what I needed I got suggestions. I learned I should eat more salt pills when sweat had crusted my entire face. I learned bananas would help settle my stomach. They also had great music, wonderful optimism, and lots of foot knowledge.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBCS76O20FRu7wFCY3BVMhmu1xf35owbyAKYCwN_fX4migHFkvMSv8iYCSp6BYBL42qocMa6BoyEFDEKt8hRANsHE2OCMcFnGcGzBEjIpkZMPCZSlOrnmKm_5YBA_4-DYSN5Y-FZpq40/s1600/DSCN0211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBCS76O20FRu7wFCY3BVMhmu1xf35owbyAKYCwN_fX4migHFkvMSv8iYCSp6BYBL42qocMa6BoyEFDEKt8hRANsHE2OCMcFnGcGzBEjIpkZMPCZSlOrnmKm_5YBA_4-DYSN5Y-FZpq40/s1600/DSCN0211.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aid Station 2/3</td></tr>
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I'm not sure where I was when I pulled out my headlamp and turned it on. I had run through some heavy mental places already. After loop 3, the halfway point, I knew I needed to find a reset button inside me. I took a nap in Lisa's car--I hated to ask her to wake me. After the nap, I reminded myself to remove all negative mental energy from my mind. There could only be room for peace and positive thoughts. From here out, when negative thoughts entered, I told myself to let them go.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipI6EPUdA6oMD0w4j7hG8hF-xWK-WE8Z71H0_XFQBdXKDdoGGHamuPJh3afgBm90T5gd015ZMjOJjG-rnm5UC3AFwwRaFbmKI_kJLOvtbB5ZMuC2RcRG4DcRLVhqmjxA2R-UOetZLSrdo/s1600/DSCN0220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipI6EPUdA6oMD0w4j7hG8hF-xWK-WE8Z71H0_XFQBdXKDdoGGHamuPJh3afgBm90T5gd015ZMjOJjG-rnm5UC3AFwwRaFbmKI_kJLOvtbB5ZMuC2RcRG4DcRLVhqmjxA2R-UOetZLSrdo/s1600/DSCN0220.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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When I left the campground around 11 pm, Lisa and I noticed a lovely moondog. I felt better. I was in a more meditative state, constantly reminding myself to stay in the here and the now. Night running makes that easier. A mouse stood on a rock as I passed. Owls called through the dark. Earlier, someone had mentioned green spiders, and I noticed their sparkly backs shining against my headlamp. I reminded myself to go deeper into my body, to embrace whatever was there.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTGuKA7XQikqGs2I5MVaT1vbDGDVpl5e2Kw4PD5onRu6r-NFN4PVd1KfkbrrGpaJi6t3xAFjfNsk84l89WfCoY4eyqs2mssS3kiTzAqbDDlKVgDDSA6vBeHC4klNk0S4FJgKpJAqrENg/s1600/DSCN0189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTGuKA7XQikqGs2I5MVaT1vbDGDVpl5e2Kw4PD5onRu6r-NFN4PVd1KfkbrrGpaJi6t3xAFjfNsk84l89WfCoY4eyqs2mssS3kiTzAqbDDlKVgDDSA6vBeHC4klNk0S4FJgKpJAqrENg/s1600/DSCN0189.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The fifty milers started at midnight, and the first ones came by me around Aid Station 2. Several friends were running it and I was looking forward to seeing (hearing?) them. Many passed me around Aid Station 3. I sat down on a cooler for a moment and the string of headlamps climbing the hill was a beautiful thing. A friend later said that when he came by me, I was standing there just staring at the sky. It wasn't stars I was looking at but ridgetop headlamps. I love watching them move and feeling some kind of connection with each runner spread out there in the night.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4p6gaBmupnooZlXOvlGb5b_EasDkzmYOV7DvWVpZ_QFo3PVRJxNaWhjU7TOJ_vojKd0bafsa81xOZw8ynVpLYlYA_Eclhe5WejYt-QBuQqMB9sfO4aLenuPt1NeAW6dMSxaJibaQzdS8/s1600/DSCN0113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4p6gaBmupnooZlXOvlGb5b_EasDkzmYOV7DvWVpZ_QFo3PVRJxNaWhjU7TOJ_vojKd0bafsa81xOZw8ynVpLYlYA_Eclhe5WejYt-QBuQqMB9sfO4aLenuPt1NeAW6dMSxaJibaQzdS8/s1600/DSCN0113.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ibex?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"></td></tr>
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I finished loop 4 and found the cooler outside the car. Lisa was asleep and I grabbed some watermelon and soda and cookies and ate. The watermelon was so good. Lisa came over and rubbed my legs. It was somewhere around 4 am and my quads were trashed and had been cramping since loop 2. I didn't stay long.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSHDwGydfchn7aiEnoXj-c53x_CzNXycpNhbAz1x2xuzOFMOa38odhsiSEVBDIRVu-Tg-Ctk4eY9IaO-JIuh6-7c4IkSTv2Os_gkE1QvK7YyMPuTQ3gd2CgQgD9CtqbMv_1Wn_uO6uk8/s1600/DSCN0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSHDwGydfchn7aiEnoXj-c53x_CzNXycpNhbAz1x2xuzOFMOa38odhsiSEVBDIRVu-Tg-Ctk4eY9IaO-JIuh6-7c4IkSTv2Os_gkE1QvK7YyMPuTQ3gd2CgQgD9CtqbMv_1Wn_uO6uk8/s1600/DSCN0111.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was feeling good on loop 5. It rained a bit around 4:30 am. There's something about the anticipation of daylight in the early morning hour that recharged me. I've made it through the night and am coming out the other side. I was past Aid Station 1 when daylight appeared. The sound of so many birds energized me. At some point in that section I put myself in the back pocket of a 50 miler named Janet and followed her feet and voice. I told John at AS 2 I was rallying. At AS 3 I told Janet thanks for helping me get this far, that I needed to sit for a moment. It was raining again and I didn't sit but I drank some soup broth standing under the tent while volunteers pushed rain water out of the top of the canvas. It was a few minutes after 8 when I left to climb out of there. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifQHdT1tE-v5ftAm1DVcQvgCvZQMimQKpSQExVxbFDYT3N9urALb2K9TNsK7bmEwUJGsbmO3B3XiduW1LIS1K92-egwUS0dpY4oaU9uutXWhFlLZjrIz-eIr7l_Bf3VjQ0sk8Z-nnIX64/s1600/IMGP0358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifQHdT1tE-v5ftAm1DVcQvgCvZQMimQKpSQExVxbFDYT3N9urALb2K9TNsK7bmEwUJGsbmO3B3XiduW1LIS1K92-egwUS0dpY4oaU9uutXWhFlLZjrIz-eIr7l_Bf3VjQ0sk8Z-nnIX64/s1600/IMGP0358.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's a longish climb, at least on the fifth round. I could still see the lights of the aid station when I realized it was really pissing rain. The taste of salt was pouring into my mouth from my dried sweat. Hail was pinging off me, splashing the puddles. After another turn I was climbing through what felt like a creek of fast moving water on the trail. I was laughing out loud because it was so hilarious and fun and cold and there was nothing else to do but laugh. And keep moving. This climb and the ridge top felt like I was up there for hours. Parts of the earth were moving in big chunks. There was the lightening overhead. I was soaked. The cold came in through my hands and feet. I sat in a shelter on the ridge for a few minutes with my hands under my armpits, then kept moving. My breathing was getting weird and shaky. The wind at times sounded apocalyptic and made me think of trains and tornados. I shuffled along the ridge slowly and carefully. Coming down Ant Hill, rocks moved around, pushed by water and mud.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLY3nupQtWuzN6NJyJxBN9h-J1Tkllin-8o5-PFHU_A447mJAHkg5SJMZdidMaGhQRFR0Sp61zN0A65nxYjdHXdmT1FVnBoI7hLbyhUEZl1I6judr-gx-R-PMzLKsjG68Hcq_oWX60QSM/s1600/DSCN0217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLY3nupQtWuzN6NJyJxBN9h-J1Tkllin-8o5-PFHU_A447mJAHkg5SJMZdidMaGhQRFR0Sp61zN0A65nxYjdHXdmT1FVnBoI7hLbyhUEZl1I6judr-gx-R-PMzLKsjG68Hcq_oWX60QSM/s1600/DSCN0217.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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At some point before the gravel road, I had to step over a log. My teeth were chattering. I looked at the log and knew I had to do something to get to the other side of it. But I wasn't sure what to do. I wasn't sure how to do it. I'm talking about stepping over the log. I realized I was a mess. I walked most of the road. My breathing was getting worse. My fingers were blue. The thin running rain jacket I had with me was useless. By the time I got to the river crossing my head was twitching. Crossing the bridge, I cried a little. I don't know if it was from relief to arrive at shelter, or knowing I was finished, or pure exhaustion. It was an overwhelming emotion.</div>
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When I approached the radio operator at AS 4, I said, "Number 29. I'm done. I'm kind of fucked up."<br />
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"I'm sorry," he said. "Let's get you inside the trailer."<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fvoJ_hkJPdKW838uPMNHYLeYolYle8L_hgAi0TsMn9hq0tj-WPoJfQKZNF565A5HDoXMcHRWWoTRBGVUEk12ZSX8yPes1SC8WYLKU9f8i86x1XWk0rnhKPe3CGHcdl_9gHT47EbsAkU/s1600/DSCN0171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fvoJ_hkJPdKW838uPMNHYLeYolYle8L_hgAi0TsMn9hq0tj-WPoJfQKZNF565A5HDoXMcHRWWoTRBGVUEk12ZSX8yPes1SC8WYLKU9f8i86x1XWk0rnhKPe3CGHcdl_9gHT47EbsAkU/s1600/DSCN0171.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radio operators</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnLNhhkg1A3ybR1D-0l6U31b9_UQl09UyXmoQuq8qQkl0HoSs4fEAfjKxt09fDO3YHrVbHGTFhMI2gw1M7B18QZTf_L9daAEko17UblEbsSERrrZLdRztASPX_VYx1HdjT51mEnl4y3E/s1600/DSCN0201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnLNhhkg1A3ybR1D-0l6U31b9_UQl09UyXmoQuq8qQkl0HoSs4fEAfjKxt09fDO3YHrVbHGTFhMI2gw1M7B18QZTf_L9daAEko17UblEbsSERrrZLdRztASPX_VYx1HdjT51mEnl4y3E/s1600/DSCN0201.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trailer with space heater</td></tr>
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I rode back to the campground with other people who had dropped. I think I freaked Lisa out some when she saw me. She got me in the car and turned the heat on. She helped me change clothes. She put a sleeping bag over me and talked to a medic about what I needed, brought me some soup broth and a handful of bacon. From her car, I watched carloads of other drops coming in wrapped in space blankets. I also watched people finish, including my friend Tim who won the 17 miler. I watched other people finish loops shivering and friends swarming them with shelter and nourishment and heat. I watched my friend John, the Race Director, and realized what a joy it is for him to see people finish his races. Eventually I got out of the car and found some scrambled egg quesadillas, which I threw up on the way home. But at the time they were miraculous and I kept shoveling them in. I talked to many people who were just like me, hypothermic and glad to be dry.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4_0sxVGuatk4TrgimKIE1sHTrHnqNnwrOkKUVtWvUDxcTESre7grVXdZeZRyswwoRrLb7yq72Yf2FediUwqjcwh80nBJJLC7bXaeMM4VMnBBYSjjebPOZNO2M0IrhxGwGAHpQ5tlduw/s1600/P4110735-(ZF-10599-11070-1-001).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4_0sxVGuatk4TrgimKIE1sHTrHnqNnwrOkKUVtWvUDxcTESre7grVXdZeZRyswwoRrLb7yq72Yf2FediUwqjcwh80nBJJLC7bXaeMM4VMnBBYSjjebPOZNO2M0IrhxGwGAHpQ5tlduw/s1600/P4110735-(ZF-10599-11070-1-001).jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Zach Pierce (thanks Zach!)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Now here's the thing. I love running. I love running on beautiful trails with amazing people, and I got to do that for 80 miles at Zumbro. There's nothing I've found that puts me in the moment more than running long distances on lovely trails. Of course I wish I had run 100 miles instead. Of course I learned plenty. To cross the start line is an acknowledgement that you might not cross the finish--it's a given that we live with, and that is part of the adventure. Today I'm satisfied (and sore) with 80. I'm comfortable with the limitations I found. I don't feel like it was a failure at all. This weekend I got to do this thing I love, with the woman I love, surrounded by wonderful people, and I got to see and feel things I didn't expect to see. This weekend I went for a run and I got to live a little.<br />
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<br />Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-79334814999297423432013-12-01T19:31:00.000-08:002013-12-01T19:43:11.037-08:00Saint John USVI, Thanksgiving Week 2013 Part 1 (some hikes and etc.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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To prepare for this trip, Lisa and I spent a week on Royal Caribbean's Jewel of the Seas that ported out of San Juan, Puerto Rico. It was a lovely and elegant ship and never felt too crowded. We knew our week on Saint John would require practice, so we worked on our eating, floating, and chilling out skills. After the cruise, on Saturday morning, we were the first to disembark and we headed to the airport, where we took a Cessna ten-seater (Cape Air) for an amazing flight over the northwest coast and Culebra and landed in Saint Thomas.<span id="goog_826626470"></span><span id="goog_826626471"></span><span id="goog_826626472"></span><span id="goog_826626473"></span><span id="goog_826626474"></span><span id="goog_826626475"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Culebra</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Landing</td></tr>
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My parents had arrived in Saint Thomas the previous day so we picked them up in Charlotte Amalie and headed to the Red Hook ferry. There's something magical about destinations that require boat rides to get there--I think of Disneyworld, Isle Royale, and now Saint John. The ride only took about 10-15 minutes.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the Red Hook ferry</td></tr>
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We rented our jeep, checked into our place, hit the Starfish Market for groceries (we later found the Saint John Market near the Westin to be much cheaper, as well as the Love City Mini Mart on the east side), rented snorkel fins for my dad, had an early dinner in Cruz Bay (or was it lunch?), then hit Trunk Bay for a swim before sunset.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trunk Bay sunset</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trunk Bay sunset</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<b>Driving: </b>This is another thing that took training, and years of video games have given me the skills to succeed at driving on Saint John. I loved it. Road obstacles such as donkeys, sheep, goats, etc. kept me alert. The longest stretch of straight road seems to be about 40 yards, and switchbacks are common. So are rental jeeps, and we went through two of them in our week there. </div>
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The locals seem nice about people like me who forget that driving takes place on the left side of the road. One night in Cruz Bay, with my window down I heard someone repeating, "Left. Left. Left." He was speaking to me and I needed that reminder. The roundabout in Cruz Bay where five roads come together must be the best spot for entertainment on the entire island, especially if I'm circling it. The only way to get through it is to find some point of mutual understanding with the other drivers, and smiles and polite hand gestures are more than helpful. </div>
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<b>House</b>: We stayed in a villa called Over the Rainbow, which is on a hilltop between Fish Bay and Reef Bay on the south side of the island. The place was perfect for us. The views of Fish Bay at night were wonderful, and because the villa is on the edge of the national park, our views to the east showed completely undeveloped shore all the way to Ram Head. Such thick skies at night, and the sounds of the night forest were beautiful, though overwhelming at first. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angel</td></tr>
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Many cats live in the forest around our place. Lisa made friends with them and soon they were watching us through the big glass doors. Their new names are Sweet Pea, Smokey and Angel. In one of the biggest surprises of the week, my mom heated leftover mac and cheese and fed it to them. The island even made her like cats!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise, looking toward Ram Head from Over the Rainbow</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_826626509"></span><span id="goog_826626510"></span>From our place, it was a short but steep walk down to the beaches of Reef Bay. Then we were able to walk around or over some big rocks to find the ruins of the Reef Bay Rum Factory.<span id="goog_826626515"></span><span id="goog_826626516"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reef Bay beach walk</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some rocks we walked around and over</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tree-climbing soldier crab</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rum factory ruins<br />
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<b>Salt Pond Bay: </b>We went to the east side of the island a couple different times and fell in love with Salt Pond Bay. On the way, we met donkeys on Centerline Road. We saw one on the porch of Pickles Deli. Later, we saw donkeys on the beach at Maho Bay. We also saw sheep on Centerline Road, although we thought they were goats. Someone taught us how to tell the difference by their tails: goat tails point up, sheep down. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salad donkey</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVX3dRcQayb1SK9fGV-EMaIBZaV8x-Uf69P86Qk9Bww9Do5N5xxGRyrgWL2o6zvjWo1RVQAfllXpDev3rLWI2v463JoKjKpgDPaLd0ipq91Opr-xNvrhmqG19c97Btm7eSAFuYjw3ho0E/s1600/IMG_3655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVX3dRcQayb1SK9fGV-EMaIBZaV8x-Uf69P86Qk9Bww9Do5N5xxGRyrgWL2o6zvjWo1RVQAfllXpDev3rLWI2v463JoKjKpgDPaLd0ipq91Opr-xNvrhmqG19c97Btm7eSAFuYjw3ho0E/s320/IMG_3655.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pickles Deli donkey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoPtZZebjbVTh6prX2Gu8PBse4CqBb1TV_QM6YtNjw0-DzY3-Hu1GbKVH0oMCDRbboEupWxwtmT609DwXhmYvihzEBX12w6C80RfwZwxoLHOiWXtRXF_zCeswMcP7emsfN7me6JQlvIM/s1600/IMG_3651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUoPtZZebjbVTh6prX2Gu8PBse4CqBb1TV_QM6YtNjw0-DzY3-Hu1GbKVH0oMCDRbboEupWxwtmT609DwXhmYvihzEBX12w6C80RfwZwxoLHOiWXtRXF_zCeswMcP7emsfN7me6JQlvIM/s320/IMG_3651.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Road donkeys</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From Salt Pond Bay, we did a couple hikes. The first was to Ram Head and Drunk Bay. Ram Head was scenic with lots of cacti and expansive vistas, while Drunk Bay was full of little coral people splayed all over the rocks. We left a guy made of coral and coconut husk there too. And when we sent my parents to see "something really cool at Drunk Bay," my mom naturally assumed I was directing her to the nudist beach.<span id="goog_826626552"></span><span id="goog_826626553"></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAIsIy_D3A-EPTopv4Xk_f7fBk1a92dm88QmYwMUW5bh5g65b7gM5ylMV40CWhzjZ8SyAHnGkMJ8U-7JGxSxdLYOOMmcP5Wv1Ol3d9NJeq2i9hmg3t04n3gUi08ZCK3N1N-J9RJ5NTIjs/s1600/PB250273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAIsIy_D3A-EPTopv4Xk_f7fBk1a92dm88QmYwMUW5bh5g65b7gM5ylMV40CWhzjZ8SyAHnGkMJ8U-7JGxSxdLYOOMmcP5Wv1Ol3d9NJeq2i9hmg3t04n3gUi08ZCK3N1N-J9RJ5NTIjs/s320/PB250273.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No Grandpa, I want a different rock.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Ww7i3HSX7V4UsbtlqZUzFTRjeKNXZlmQ6F9PBm3vzgaWejcktKzUuxgvEjTiL0KwmFUC0YPvEcKSjnNTpl4xYUjjY_PVjPEEULYpyFmyiPbhhHWl_33S82AwwtfHUec7-MK2BI5jtyA/s1600/PB250319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Ww7i3HSX7V4UsbtlqZUzFTRjeKNXZlmQ6F9PBm3vzgaWejcktKzUuxgvEjTiL0KwmFUC0YPvEcKSjnNTpl4xYUjjY_PVjPEEULYpyFmyiPbhhHWl_33S82AwwtfHUec7-MK2BI5jtyA/s320/PB250319.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cactus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuXn0aIDEX2dJPUj4gWw_r17bYQXgBUK-h2O-aMFogj8N6vVtK5dCWxsw3gCXbbyfhAscL2agoyF4538q9eV1Zq30LJQuKM4-nwBULAybEGV63ps4sQ7k_zI9NnC3sw0gP3D1CoL8Eys/s1600/PB250348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuXn0aIDEX2dJPUj4gWw_r17bYQXgBUK-h2O-aMFogj8N6vVtK5dCWxsw3gCXbbyfhAscL2agoyF4538q9eV1Zq30LJQuKM4-nwBULAybEGV63ps4sQ7k_zI9NnC3sw0gP3D1CoL8Eys/s320/PB250348.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ram Head trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2g2Icxi4AoO0tE4Yt79prXkMIi-AOZSYfrZQnl3xtxoZ6HYFr54cywVXvtC-kG1lovFvZ7RKUJ4tmK5y7zGCugd8j4FauS3P_z2DZgh9eHFzAU9LIyAGLc7GwQoQX8lPnOy5vb9zZ9Q/s1600/PB250375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2g2Icxi4AoO0tE4Yt79prXkMIi-AOZSYfrZQnl3xtxoZ6HYFr54cywVXvtC-kG1lovFvZ7RKUJ4tmK5y7zGCugd8j4FauS3P_z2DZgh9eHFzAU9LIyAGLc7GwQoQX8lPnOy5vb9zZ9Q/s320/PB250375.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ram Head trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1orTJ-dYuGnKbZa00fPsiovgxfRz-cAu5v3Lc9b2NP9Xu-lEooCjU0NdM3vMgfH3lGM9U9B2yGydzt1b9K84OyXnbQ_z04RFr5HC8XQbIMWDdAIilhxmJc96Xw3vlEPPGmZWb1ZMvBFA/s1600/PB250429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1orTJ-dYuGnKbZa00fPsiovgxfRz-cAu5v3Lc9b2NP9Xu-lEooCjU0NdM3vMgfH3lGM9U9B2yGydzt1b9K84OyXnbQ_z04RFr5HC8XQbIMWDdAIilhxmJc96Xw3vlEPPGmZWb1ZMvBFA/s320/PB250429.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coral people of Drunk Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsar2J6AV4lCDnQ_yRtKMFOR1tTZspJW49S_k_Ua1Noy4aOHNtaN2WW6DzrAKXSldYyBFv-8nC7c8NvArCW6xl7HYh0ylWnc9bL9gAQNc2xRR-7dm5i708w4KXnjsCLK1G1_KCNTP6YAs/s1600/PB250418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsar2J6AV4lCDnQ_yRtKMFOR1tTZspJW49S_k_Ua1Noy4aOHNtaN2WW6DzrAKXSldYyBFv-8nC7c8NvArCW6xl7HYh0ylWnc9bL9gAQNc2xRR-7dm5i708w4KXnjsCLK1G1_KCNTP6YAs/s320/PB250418.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drunk Bay and a lovely lady</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSSMcs3X26E_Wl-oTQ6V7wuc4L4XqnolpXebSBfrtvBBZyURC1S0Zyb7gSlUPJ2WOlf-TCrhHSux4PtrvRk8V6zTtvZbn8kNHjRwla6I4uYDhew6j1nBz39NZjaCEXs2jwm9vNhKwI_s/s1600/PB250433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSSMcs3X26E_Wl-oTQ6V7wuc4L4XqnolpXebSBfrtvBBZyURC1S0Zyb7gSlUPJ2WOlf-TCrhHSux4PtrvRk8V6zTtvZbn8kNHjRwla6I4uYDhew6j1nBz39NZjaCEXs2jwm9vNhKwI_s/s320/PB250433.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our guy is on the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A few days later we came back and drove to the end of the road, past Salt Pond Bay and the Lameshur Bays, and we hiked the old Lameshur Road trail to the Reef Bay Estate ruins and then on to the Taino Petroglyphs.<br />
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And then on to the Taino petroglyphs:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6b-UrN2Kgg4qXpnJKVA8EaGN83B1jCqh3aL9P3V1LGk9o3WkwOSMX9uNojrCftvplLDP0XDX35PMVR610iKUhPVy7HOp11nvS1rTpiBanqQD16_hNheB0tmR6ikNc3zK1YLiOLKgkMFA/s1600/PB281878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6b-UrN2Kgg4qXpnJKVA8EaGN83B1jCqh3aL9P3V1LGk9o3WkwOSMX9uNojrCftvplLDP0XDX35PMVR610iKUhPVy7HOp11nvS1rTpiBanqQD16_hNheB0tmR6ikNc3zK1YLiOLKgkMFA/s320/PB281878.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These were historic when Columbus arrived.</td></tr>
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Yes, all these trails were awesome for running too. Of course.<br />
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On the north side of the island, we explored the Annaberg ruins.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvKwL-BIovQHEd4jsQB7_bEMjz-dX4Cs21A3Z3ou5rQZ-3Coo7Pl7jIXbGJEWMrj92yOxbA4Rs2tYlnqkBJavFMuulO4zbn7sEl3zpPq0cErSnroLhKFFDBD_F2DX_L-wxevet2vqhus/s1600/PB270009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvKwL-BIovQHEd4jsQB7_bEMjz-dX4Cs21A3Z3ou5rQZ-3Coo7Pl7jIXbGJEWMrj92yOxbA4Rs2tYlnqkBJavFMuulO4zbn7sEl3zpPq0cErSnroLhKFFDBD_F2DX_L-wxevet2vqhus/s320/PB270009.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monkey-no-climb tree</td></tr>
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<br />
Next time we'll talk about beaches and snorkeling, if you care to join me.<br />
<br />
<br />
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</div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-69210450803349876402013-09-09T21:08:00.000-07:002013-09-09T22:22:28.618-07:00Superior 100, 2013 (Unexplainable Stories)<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Superior 100 Endurance Run starts at Gooseberry State
Park and travels north via the Superior Hiking Trail, a favorite
playground, to Lutsen Mountain. Along the way, for an actual 103.6 miles, the
adventure is filled with so many awesome and inspiring people, overwhelming
views, incredible stories of triumphs of body and spirit. In other words,
despite some physical pain and running through some dark spots, it's a total
blast.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPM5J6FrUPqono8GaVoN4j4YcTjuO59EMQkH_umIwiblZBss152e7S6cbLaexzdktjsRB3sRRhQPxgJW9pQ1rNcrJhkCmhrCY6hCCcfueOmwoywN7QZRtvc5IOJqTfBU-fLnK1Mq8csQ/s1600/IMG_4967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimPM5J6FrUPqono8GaVoN4j4YcTjuO59EMQkH_umIwiblZBss152e7S6cbLaexzdktjsRB3sRRhQPxgJW9pQ1rNcrJhkCmhrCY6hCCcfueOmwoywN7QZRtvc5IOJqTfBU-fLnK1Mq8csQ/s320/IMG_4967.JPG" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with Mom and Dad </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The gathering at the start is fun, meeting new people
and seeing others from these events, but you really want to get running. Your parents are there too. After a
hug and sweet kiss from Lisa, and a “Go” from race director John Storkamp, you're finally
doing this thing, running under the Highway 61 bridge and soon leaving paved trail.
Except for highway crossings, you won’t run pavement again until the finish is in sight. The memories are very episodic--only a couple days removed you have a difficult time
getting the specifics right, what happened in what section and so on. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>To Split Rock Aid Station (9.7 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lots of chatter. Lots of people passing. Lots of excitement. You run too fast. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Approaching the aid station, you let out a loud, "Woo!" Then another. You will do this approaching every aid station. People will later say, "There's that guy who says 'Woo.'" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>To Beaver Bay (10.3 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The heat kicks in. You're still drinking
regularly, eating a Gu packet every half hour. Still running faster than you
should, too. You decide to pull back—the day could get long and your goals are to finish and to enjoy it.<br />
<br />
At Beaver
Bay you see Lisa and your parents for the first time. You sit in a chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You pour ice water over your head, then Lisa covers your head with cold rags--she's amazing that way, the details. You're incredibly gassy and try to blame your
mom. You eat some oranges and bananas. You can't stop laughing.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3Oq-5Z9OvEQ1oPC-Q0VPfJW5SECwYHbgn2FSHnCjsOfn6UMFXuMJxcMWn9TL5R7guONNXWXFuHZKNTgnNBHwENl5Nss8s2PXnk238A8bLgfoc9A35zcPO0GxqvSQhQl87VyKXBWXArw/s1600/IMG_4971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3Oq-5Z9OvEQ1oPC-Q0VPfJW5SECwYHbgn2FSHnCjsOfn6UMFXuMJxcMWn9TL5R7guONNXWXFuHZKNTgnNBHwENl5Nss8s2PXnk238A8bLgfoc9A35zcPO0GxqvSQhQl87VyKXBWXArw/s320/IMG_4971.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>To Silver Bay (4.9 miles)</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This section is short but a lot happens. It's more exposed and everyone who passes you or who you pass mentions the heat beating them up. People are zombied. You're nauseous and bloated from drinking so much water. At a beautiful overlook of endless trees you sit on a rock and consider throwing up. A friend named Joe (who's still in the Gnarly Bandit hunt) chats for a couple minutes. The breeze feels good here--you must have taken your shirt off. You spray orange chunks and liquid on the rocks in spurts, enjoying the view and the breeze. You feel so much better after the vomit. Not long after this you pass a man who has run out of water (or maybe he passes you), so you give him some of yours.<br />
<br />
You dip your head in a cold creek before the aid station.<br />
<br />
At some point you come upon Matt, who has ridden up with you (Lisa and your parents are helping crew him too). You work together to get to the aid station and the familiar company is nice. You feel wobbly and worry about being able to finish this thing when you take a chair at Silver Bay.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>To Tettegouche (9.9 miles)</b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This section feels long and hilly and beautiful and hot. But every section feels hilly and beautiful. It might be that you throw up here instead of the previous section. And you might have run into the man without water here instead. Heat blurs memory. You had looked at your mileage chart wrong before leaving and think this section's a mile or two shorter than it really is, so it feels like forever. By the time you hit Tettegouche, you're really scared you won't make it to the end.</div>
<br />
<b>To County Road 6 (8.6 mles)</b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You've got trekking poles now. Shortly after leaving Tettegouche, along the rocky shores of the Baptism River, with little daylight to spare, you pull out the headlamp. You love the magic of night running, how your world of vision is reduced to that circle of light and the shadows its movement creates. How other distant headlamps move across valleys and ridgetops. The echoing pip pip pip of nightbirds. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For a long time, you hear faint traces of a woman singing. You wonder if it's someone from the many campsites along the trail. But the voice moves through the dark. Ahead of you now. It's lovely. Then the voice connects to a pair of headlamps, a runner and her pacer, one of them singing. You thank them for the gift. They tell you they aren't really there, that you're hallucinating. Their laughter bounces in the dark as you continue on. </div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>To Finland (7.5 miles) </b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The stars so thick and bright you could reach out and grab handfuls from the sky. Rocky outcrops and the sound of water rushing somewhere beneath you. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You think of your friend Aric often tonight. Exactly a year ago he passed away and you walked the Blue Earth river looking for him. Now you talk to him and you are comforted. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
AC/DC blasts from speakers at the aid station.</div>
<br />
<b>To Sonju Lake Road (7.7 miles)</b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Branches and brush hide the trail from your headlamp. At the aid station, you suck down a cup of soup broth. This has been your go-to aid station request. You've backed off the gel packets in the night because they make you want to throw up. It's still so humid and warm for such a clear night, and the campfire feels good but you don't linger here. You want to see Lisa, so you move on.</div>
<br />
<b>To Crosb</b>y<b>-Manitou</b> <b>(4.2 miles)</b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You're feeling good, moving good. The poles give you a rhythm. You ran this section three weeks ago, so landmarks are familiar, even in the dark. You've been taking this thing piece by piece, aid station by aid station, but this one is special because the last had no crew access, and you'll see Lisa here. It's also the halfway mark. Yay!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQpFPSmkSvDstFDknrXop02Owors-IU8u-l7h4LSXTobglI-tF7JQbw1ebMsAqzpk4f4Soo7sN71-we5gbbu97SooCBhYCADUj6lcJ1_mTTXuqDyodipkGDFq5RAjJSQX3gRJ6Ctyt28/s1600/IMG_4972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQpFPSmkSvDstFDknrXop02Owors-IU8u-l7h4LSXTobglI-tF7JQbw1ebMsAqzpk4f4Soo7sN71-we5gbbu97SooCBhYCADUj6lcJ1_mTTXuqDyodipkGDFq5RAjJSQX3gRJ6Ctyt28/s320/IMG_4972.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crosby bathroom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>To Sugarloaf (9.4 miles)</b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The climbs through the Manitou River gorge are brutal, at spots so steep your hands pull you up. Twice you hit false summits, and then keep climbing. But when you finally top out the sun is twinkling over the big lake and there is enough light to see the whole forested gorge you just passed through. The light brings energy. You run more. You hop over rocks and roots instead of stumbling. You'll change shoes at Sugarloaf. It's a long day ahead, still hot and humid, and this section's got plenty of climbing, but you've got this. Just keep moving.</div>
<br />
<b>To Cramer Road</b> (5.6 miles)<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You've been running with a guy named Jason for awhile now, working together. It's amazing, the things you discover you have in common. It's good teamwork. You're grateful for the company. You're also leaving the aid stations faster. The end of this is in your head now.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You see Russ, Matt's pacer, here. Russ taught your son English in high school. Matt's suffering, but moving. He's in good hands. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJryt2HLtx0OnB7RsyO6pmmpzaOeFtZ7ZXhgsQ6vUVlgHN6Ja0PJmxes-anPtVOIRStwf2GqjlFCNlDr8qLDL7F6oOE-ko5zBqqpwP15HOoQy8cbznbpLl0F7_XxYJP6g_M9nDw1qLtE/s1600/IMG_4978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJryt2HLtx0OnB7RsyO6pmmpzaOeFtZ7ZXhgsQ6vUVlgHN6Ja0PJmxes-anPtVOIRStwf2GqjlFCNlDr8qLDL7F6oOE-ko5zBqqpwP15HOoQy8cbznbpLl0F7_XxYJP6g_M9nDw1qLtE/s320/IMG_4978.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watermelon and soup broth for breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>To Temperance River (7.1 miles) </b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You're out in the open often in this section, but midmorning the heat starts to break. You first notice it in the cooler breezes by rivers. The air is dryer too. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You will regret not taking a pancake from the last aid station.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Again, you've read your chart wrong and think this section is a couple miles shorter than it is, so it grows as you move through it. You're seeing 50 milers pass you now. They smell fresh, like soap and shampoo. They all offer encouragement.</div>
<br />
<b>To Sawbill (5.7 miles)</b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jason has so much energy you cut the imaginary string that's held you together this long and let him go. You can't keep up and you're happy he's feeling this groove. 50 milers from Mankato are coming by. Your new friend TJ is doing great. You're moving too, doing what you can, steady, highs and lows pulsing through you in quick waves. You're eating more now too. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You'd really like an ice cream cookie sandwich from here until the end. It's in your head.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b> </b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The long and steep climb from the Temperance River to Carlton Peak whacks you hard, but long sections here are runnable. And once you pass the spur to the top of Carlton Peak, you feel different, lighter. You're in spring race territory here, only 25k to go. And it's mostly all downhill boardwalk to the aid station. Lisa returns your Woo! long before you can see her. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftB1Y6NMkV3vGkY1HAaw-wtzlLOZamkIByqdDdTmtq3D1PU73_OBtdufGD74vamDzJDCVGgYOd92IgimifrpavU9tCzKcrpWnuk-yERpray08hYBqpcIVa58N1MF1YlhEltpiBud-QjE/s1600/IMG_4984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftB1Y6NMkV3vGkY1HAaw-wtzlLOZamkIByqdDdTmtq3D1PU73_OBtdufGD74vamDzJDCVGgYOd92IgimifrpavU9tCzKcrpWnuk-yERpray08hYBqpcIVa58N1MF1YlhEltpiBud-QjE/s320/IMG_4984.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with Darren</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>To Oberg (5.5 miles)</b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Darren joins you. The company is great but you're not good at conversation now. You're deep inside yourself, focused on each step, each breath. You hear shallow grunts in your breathing. This section rides you heavy, and a couple miles before the aid station you sit on a bench and regroup. What's difficult now, besides the muscle cramping (you're used to that), is the feet, the toes, the mangled bottoms, the feel of the roots and rocks. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You're grateful Darren is here. These things are better shared.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At Oberg, a man offers to spray your head with cold water. Of course you accept such a lovely gift. Like so many you've met here, he's a total trail angel.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXxvKdRFYrKnUaQfyXDQAmPBef-Q3ylGZlY32sV40QK_VT5AFC_8UgshuDXo__1zB6VIt_Y1zF0rPLWDqiR3cFUrVVWjzK4rh5gCqtzUyPTLjVMXFDYaSgMU1ymFJ_Cz4JVRBdfhGcw8/s1600/IMG_4981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXxvKdRFYrKnUaQfyXDQAmPBef-Q3ylGZlY32sV40QK_VT5AFC_8UgshuDXo__1zB6VIt_Y1zF0rPLWDqiR3cFUrVVWjzK4rh5gCqtzUyPTLjVMXFDYaSgMU1ymFJ_Cz4JVRBdfhGcw8/s320/IMG_4981.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>To Finish (7.1 miles/ 103.6 total) </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As tough as the previous section was, you've been thinking about this one since yesterday morning, since the spring runs. You've thought about what Moose and Mystery Mountains will feel like 100 miles into the game. And what you learn is that compared to where you've been, they've got nothing on you. You power through Moose Mountain. You hear finish line cheering, but you know you've got lots of circling to do. Darren tells you it's over a hundred miles done and it doesn't seem real. You power up Mystery, digging and leaning into your poles. You hoot and holler and woo and the darkness is almost upon you and what you don't want is to have to take that headlamp out again but you can't see the ground. Heading down Mystery Mountain you've entered the second night and the lights come out.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Someone has been answering your woos but now the sound of the Poplar River drowns human voices. Yes, you hear the river, feel its wind. You're crossing its bridge. You're answering your wife, hugging her. She's running beside you on the pavement.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Breathe it all in.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
You're doing this.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
You're circling the pool and crossing the line with your good friend and your wife.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
You're stupefied by the wonder of it all.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
This is happening.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdI1F2p-wzjxssy8U0PJYZV1z7OYtzEMw9WDvPS_dElhOoopBowmZS_us7jq-9EzEofAJElSlrJ5I44Ip2CwCdtlmhNC2FW34R2aizcdDfYqTJ94BWeoRWbVQa3mxsLMF631yYQMp3pg/s1600/IMG_4993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdI1F2p-wzjxssy8U0PJYZV1z7OYtzEMw9WDvPS_dElhOoopBowmZS_us7jq-9EzEofAJElSlrJ5I44Ip2CwCdtlmhNC2FW34R2aizcdDfYqTJ94BWeoRWbVQa3mxsLMF631yYQMp3pg/s320/IMG_4993.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You hug your parents. At least you think you do. You're so grateful you were able to cross the line with Lisa, because you ran this thing together, as a team--you will forever be grateful for the many ways she makes your life better. You get your buckle and your sweatshirt. Your time was 36 hours, 17 minutes, and some change. You greet Matt, both your new friends named Jason, others you met on the trail or at the pre-race meeting. And soon a strange thing happens. You're sitting alone at this table, your parents giving rides, Lisa ordering pizza, hunting a Coke for you. Your brain feels dry and messy, as if you might not know how to talk to someone if they came up to start a conversation. You wonder if you could write a full sentence, your name. But you're different now. You're carrying this new thing inside you--it's beautiful. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A Cloud Cult song comes through the speakers on the hotel patio. Their song "Unexplainable Stories" has been looping through your head for the last 60 miles or so. It fits. This run is finished, but it will be with you forever.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVGeR6gKwdcgtykIDinYRQbg6GmXtpA1JIo-i-Zv0Svhb2LzkJiugKTZl-gz60LmmFyAU8QGKDhqfP95nf48PNFKyiIbDuiZSJ2bdji8KIz5CpBxuM_DYcn32MUG_S-UMCYszocj-HVQ/s1600/IMG_4958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVGeR6gKwdcgtykIDinYRQbg6GmXtpA1JIo-i-Zv0Svhb2LzkJiugKTZl-gz60LmmFyAU8QGKDhqfP95nf48PNFKyiIbDuiZSJ2bdji8KIz5CpBxuM_DYcn32MUG_S-UMCYszocj-HVQ/s320/IMG_4958.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNtqNLt4hKua5vVOsQRQnPyzQyZrnZ24b63Ex802QHyn1Q3w0IicAxX7Y4jbVSRBjiMZNcclUy52kAHvObEpVPuA6ai9OjHWWCdfuXW0DLGd8o5l1O22ClxiQ-Rg6ha5lNM_XBk4hDQ4/s1600/IMG_4956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNtqNLt4hKua5vVOsQRQnPyzQyZrnZ24b63Ex802QHyn1Q3w0IicAxX7Y4jbVSRBjiMZNcclUy52kAHvObEpVPuA6ai9OjHWWCdfuXW0DLGd8o5l1O22ClxiQ-Rg6ha5lNM_XBk4hDQ4/s320/IMG_4956.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwucvA1x4UZ9p5vSu2hw8IlvDRmnAFWN3AM9NJ0wmV2zvSKh2OvcocnVJ1HJ_sSPZPQ6zx6VmcySkwxSVdgmP-9-9eTZFKhyphenhyphen_1H2TbNSTqk2r5d0bvdeOuK1V5PJkCedL_r23RSMRvvA/s1600/IMG_4990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRwucvA1x4UZ9p5vSu2hw8IlvDRmnAFWN3AM9NJ0wmV2zvSKh2OvcocnVJ1HJ_sSPZPQ6zx6VmcySkwxSVdgmP-9-9eTZFKhyphenhyphen_1H2TbNSTqk2r5d0bvdeOuK1V5PJkCedL_r23RSMRvvA/s320/IMG_4990.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Next day brunch with Matt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41d51n6lqMAK8CwehavZR3QSXSoQsMuz3VyOwpWbPLYpWcXVXS1tB3oS8rRJFiai1vrbrMAJ-AvPtsUoB2mngT33m-f8OKXag60RP5gHfXD-Fax3OdFdu8dO72WSXfMAfd_s8GNknHpw/s1600/IMG_4963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41d51n6lqMAK8CwehavZR3QSXSoQsMuz3VyOwpWbPLYpWcXVXS1tB3oS8rRJFiai1vrbrMAJ-AvPtsUoB2mngT33m-f8OKXag60RP5gHfXD-Fax3OdFdu8dO72WSXfMAfd_s8GNknHpw/s320/IMG_4963.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption">She's going to help me soak my feet. I'm a lucky lucky boy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So grateful for the community it took to get me and all these other runners together and to our finish lines (Storkamp does these right and he's good people). Grateful for the overwhelming kindness and support of family, friends, and strangers throughout this thing. Grateful for the victories and character found in the DNF's. Grateful for the humility a thing like this brings. Grateful for the opportunities and the possibilities. </div>
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Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7435518235952914549.post-40972157138314196432013-08-19T20:47:00.000-07:002013-10-28T16:28:10.253-07:00Jimbo's Boys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9J857V9-nEkmQNXV8m7l5hitRscckh6mXvMq5yVLcrP_yEFLVUp-U90kwiFndrKdtTgYKP1uybXkcxblQVwMAIjMflPOzBM_NWHzp6aUwPVVFiiOBKCyVWBdw-83HjzixsQ9TboqTpo/s1600/IMG_4806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9J857V9-nEkmQNXV8m7l5hitRscckh6mXvMq5yVLcrP_yEFLVUp-U90kwiFndrKdtTgYKP1uybXkcxblQVwMAIjMflPOzBM_NWHzp6aUwPVVFiiOBKCyVWBdw-83HjzixsQ9TboqTpo/s320/IMG_4806.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jimbo’s Boys, </span></b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">for Coach Jim Deane</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We ran intervals
around Man Made Lake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The sand there slows
time. Memory gives it some heat, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">burns the legs a
bit. I’m 43 years old tonight, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">and I clearly
recall your face, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">the way your
neck turned, and that smile </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">you gave at the
end of our last interval, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">our last gasp
of oxygen to get us across the line.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Keep moving,</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> you said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Give me one more lap.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was no
break here, not this time, just a turning over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We turned the
legs over to the head, and then to the arms.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We turned this
ancient movement over to some stillness so deep </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">within us we
won't be able to name it years later.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Somehow, in the
sticky hot air, we found another lap, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">one we didn’t
know we had. We found it to impress you, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">or each other,
or some girl. We found it for our parents. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Or maybe even for
ourselves. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We found this thing because we had to, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">because we were
Jimbo’s boys.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It changed
something inside us, that last lap.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The air leaving
our lungs was newer, the blood richer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We were
different people, full of hope and possibility.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We carry that
last lap with us, and we find it in places</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">we never
expected, places where we need it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We find it when
we realize we’ve lied to ourselves too long.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We find it on snowy
rivers, in detox cots and prison visiting rooms. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We find it when
we bury friends and family</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">and when we hear
our boy’s first cry, that first breath of life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We find it in
hotel rooms when we think our run is over,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">when we realize
there’s a new life waiting outside the door. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We find it on moonlit
midnight runs covered in soft rain</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">and in divorce
courts and car accidents and doctor’s offices.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We find that
last lap when we most need it,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">and we learn to
carefully unwrap this gift </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">you
helped us discover, the gift of being one of Jimbo’s boys.</span></div>
Kevin Langtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07091536870296163963noreply@blogger.com5