Brisk. The mercury registered in the low 30's as 58 of us milled about the Wild Duluth 50K starting line in Chambers Grove Park at 8:00 AM on Saturday. Fellow NMTC runner Lisa M. (wildknits) was explaining that we should be leveraging the honey bee strategy to stay warm, in which drones huddle about the queen to keep her nice and toasty. The drones apparently rotate regularly from inside the cluster to outside and back to allow all insect peons the opportunity to eek some bit of warmth out of the deal. Of course, on occasion the drones on the outside succumb to the cold and die; a real bummer for them and a detail which Lisa seemed to gloss over rather quickly. Hmm. Good thing the gun was about to go off...

The start was a hill charge winding quickly up the ridge across Hwy 23. This initially followed a deer path, which must be used primarily by really skinny deer. The twisty single-track served to keep the adrenalin in check, however, which was probably a good thing. The path soon widened and started rolling toward the Grand Portage aid station, even throwing in (thankfully, only) a couple of the infamous Voyageur power line hills.

Excitement of the first few miles over, the race really began for me at Grand Portage. The line of runners had stretched out, and I was running in solitude on my favorite section of the course. Winding comfortably through the trees, I settled into the consistent atomic clock stride I hoped would propel me to Duluth. More leaves had come down in the past couple weeks, and though they hid a few rocks and roots, they were less of a problem than expected. The log steps, so treacherous during the Grand Traverse, were not too bad either. The 100K runners had started at Bayfront at 6:00 AM. I encountered the leader as I approached Beck's Rd., and he was moving. 20 miles under foot and he looked as if he had just started. Impressive.

Let me repeat from my GT blog... Ah, Ely's Peak. Always a treat. You have to say that with gritted teeth to get the full effect. Seems that thought crosses my mind every time I run up that hunk of granite. Love the view, though. Started seeing more 100K'ers as I made my way along the ridge toward the Munger aid station, including Shelly, who was moving right along and being paced by Eve and her faithful sidekick, Lammbeaux.

The "Big W", an 8-mile stretch mid-race where your day is buoyed, or broken – Bardon's Peak, down to the foot of Spirit Mt., up Knowlton Crk. (including the 138 log steps), down to the Zoo and back up Keene Crk. to Getchell. Much more tolerable this time around than during the GT and previous training runs. Better attention to hydration had staved off any cramping. (See? He can be taught.)

A short distance past the Getchell aid station, I heard someone say, "There he is!". Thankfully, it was not coming from a member of the Duluth law enforcement community. It was fellow NMTC members Jim and Carolyn Gunderson running down the trail toward me. They had come out to do some pacing and keep me from getting lazy as I headed toward the home stretch. They kept me company all the way to the last aid station before jumping in the car to zoom to the finish line. Thanks, you two – perfect timing, and much appreciated!

When I emerged from the woods below Enger Tower, a bagpiper was playing on the corner by the highway overpass. Cool. I dig bagpipes. Can't seem to convince my wife I should learn how to play, though. Go figure. I trotted my way across, down the ramp and around the corner into Bayfront Park - greeted by Leslie, who was looking relaxed and refreshed. Almost as if she had already been finished for an hour or so, which she had - after turning in a blistering 5:18, 2^nd female, 1^st in her age group. Nice.

My wife and son were waiting near the finish and I was able to coax Colter into racing me to the line. He finished his race in about 10 seconds, and I finished mine in 6 hours, 24 minutes - meeting my goal of sub 6:30. A scant couple of minutes later, Lisa came across the line - hot on my heels and also under 6.5 hours. (I'm glad I was just far enough ahead that she didn't catch sight of me – or she would have reeled me in like a big ol' carp.) Fantastic run, Lisa!

Over the next few hours an intermittent stream of runners, including many other NMTC and NorthlandRunner contributors, would continue to trot in – most of 'em smiling. Congratulations, Rick B., Wayne (the Zinger man from Rochester), Steve H., Ed D., Gene Gene the Running Machine, Rick K. and anyone I missed or simply haven't been acquainted with yet. And, of course, a special bow to Shelly, the 100K iron woman. Way to go!

So, the first ultra-marathon is in the books. Good weather, good trail, good friends, damn good time. I would like to compliment Andy and Kim Holak and all of their fantastic volunteers for putting on one fine event. I tip my hat to you all.

I'll be back.

One final note: I noticed upon arriving at the NMTC Hartley run on Sunday that most of the early arrivals were people that had run in Wild Duluth events the day before.

You bunch of crazies...

First of all, let me congratulate everyone on their performances in the Whistlestop Marathon events this past weekend. It was fun ambling through blog posts and the results site, seeing the fine performances everyone put in. Some pretty impressive numbers! I got to spend last Saturday morning running new electrical in my garage. Yup, it was as fun as it sounds. I kept looking at the clock thinking, “They're all running right now... I should be running right now...” Alas, I kept telling myself it was a tapering weekend, but I'll admit it rang a little hollow.

On another note, as a follow-up to my Grand Traverse blog from a week or so ago, my rock finally arrived. Yes, my rock. Apparently, the GT guys give out a special item to all the crazies who traverse the whole 27.4 mile route. I don't know what was given out in years past, but this year it was an artist carved stone (pictured - click to enlarge). The rocks weren't ready on race day, so they mailed them out – just got it today. I have great appreciation for event organizers that find something a little different to give out at a race (let's just say that my race T-shirt collection is brimming over). This qualifies, simple and cool!

Finally, it's the inaugural Wild Duluth weekend! I am pumped. I'll be doing the 50K, for my first ultra-marathon. So, it's kind of a double play, my first ultra in Wild Duluth's first year. Sounds like a karmic convergence to me.

Could be a chilly one, though. 30's to low 40's appears to be in the offing on race day. I was reading the comments regarding clothing on Sam's lead-up to Whistlestop blogs, hoping everyone was able to put together an ensemble that was functional, yet stylish. I'm in the same boat, as the warm up I was hoping for looks to be arriving a day late.

I think I'm going to go with some Mizuno threads I bought a short bit ago. They're made of something called Breath Thermo material, which starts emitting heat as it gets damp. Go figure, some kind of exothermic reaction... but it does indeed work. Of course, I am a little concerned. As I start sweating, the moisture will cause the pull-over fabric to start warming up. As it warms up I will as well, which will cause me to sweat more and, consequently, generate more heat from the garment - starting a crazy moisture / thermal spiral which can only conclude in my ultimately bursting into flames. Ah, well. I'll take my chances. But if you see a burning man running down the Superior Hiking Trail feel free to warm your hands, then please be so kind as to douse me.

If you are running one of the inaugural Wild Duluth events, feel free to give yourself a shout out! I'll see you at the starting line. Bring warm coffee.

Thursday night I was sitting down with my Superior Hiking Trail maps trying to figure out the logistics for a 20+ mile training run when I had to knock myself on the forehead and say, "Dude, quit being a knucklehead." Eve had reminded me at the Wednesday NMTC race that the Grand Traverse was this weekend, and it just so happened all my support drops spots were exactly where they would have tables set up. So, what the heck - might as well let someone else shlep my stuff around. I plunked down $35, and signed up for the 27.4 miler. Of course, walking around downtown on Friday in the impossibly blustering wind and rain I thought, "That could have been the most foolish $35 you've ever spent." Thankfully, the wind and rain both tapered off overnight.

Grand Portage to Beck's: There seemed to be a little confusion by some as to where the trail led off from the Grand Portage parking lot due to the dark (it was 6:00 AM after all). So, being a man of action, and having been at the trail head before, I led the troops out. For about 100 meters. At which point I was passed by some rather fleet footed runners I was never to see again. I wanted this to be a training run, so I tried to pick a pace somewhere between race pace and, say, mowing the lawn. Finally arriving at what I thought was a comfortable rate, I settled in for the long haul. The trail was in great shape, considering the rain - the only challenges being those log steps and plank boardwalks, which were slicker than snot.

I love this section, as once you're up on the ridge it rolls and twists smoothly. Early on I was feeling fresh and could hardly resist the urge to hold my arms out like an 8-year-old and going "Wheeeeeeeee!" as I bobbed and weaved through the trees. It was so quiet, just the drip of water falling off the trees. I was running alone by now (which I would do all morning) – it was a great sensation.

Munger to Magney: Ah... Ely's peak climb. Always a treat. On the plus side the climb is steep, but not overly long. And the view is fantastic up on top! The rocks were a little slippery in places, a couple of less-than-graceful moments reminding me I needed to pay attention. Otherwise, smooth sailing. 17 miles to go.

Magney to Getchell: This section contains one of my favorite gems, it's right at the beginning as you head onto the SHT (east) from Skyline Parkway. It's an old stone foundation (structure long since gone) and an adjacent stone-worked, walled channel. Almost looks like a place for a water wheel? Neat to see. Anyone know its origin?

This is the energy sapping portion of the run. The early downhill is twisting and rocky, followed by treks up Knowlton and Keene Creeks. Uh, oh. No more "Wheeeeeeeee!"... a bit of leg cramping setting in. I hate leg cramps. I feel like they are (mostly) preventable with good hydration and diet during a run. Note to Self: Pay closer attention during Wild Duluth 50K (same route) in a couple of weeks. Fortunately, I was just a short distance downhill from the next rest stop. Need to fuel up for the last 10 miles.

Getchell to 24^th: After eating some bananas and drinking what felt like a gallon of water and HEED, I headed off once again - pretty sure I was sloshing as I ran. There is a rise that continues along Keene Creek here, which was beautiful with all the water flowing from the rain. The trail veered east and settled into an extended rolling flow and eventual downhill run into the 24^th Ave. rest stop. Lots of room to cruise, much appreciated. It was good to get back into a steady rhythm after the tough run up to Getchell.

24^th to Finish: The Enger Tower area and surrounding trails were crawling with kids, as a rather large cross-country meet was in action over on the neighboring golf course. My ears are still ringing from the working over the Japanese Bell was getting by some idle participants as I ran by. Then, downhill... beautiful downhill. I will never complain about steady downhill at mile 24 of a 27 mile run. The SHT takes a meandering route around the DECC and along the Lakewalk. The 1000-foot ore boat, Indiana Harbor, was passing under the Lift Bridge right as I was going by. Nice. Lots of people out, despite a bit of drizzle and breeze.

Around the corner to Fitger's, and done. 27.4 miles. Rain held off, cool temperatures. Felt good. Not a bad way to spend a morning.

As I stood on the deck of the boat, running was about the furthest thing from my mind. To be fair, neither was anything else that didn't relate specifically to the task at hand. More compelling was the mental and physical checklist I was running through, making certain all was in order for what I was about to do. The twin steel tanks of air on my back and all of the ancillary equipment attached felt ponderous, but that would be remedied soon enough.

A short distance away, bobbing gently in the (remarkably) calm water of Lake Superior, was an innocuous looking white plastic jug. A knot of nylon rope was tied to its handle, a thin white line stretching vertically from it disappearing down into darkness. The other end of that tenuous connection was tied to the deck rail of the wreck Kamloops; a steel bulk freighter that had foundered in a storm in 1927. Ripped open on the rocks of Isle Royale, it had settled on its side over 200 feet below.

Technical diving, which is defined as any diving in which immediate access to the surface is not possible, is an area I had been moving steadily toward since I first donned a mask. The depth of this dive alone met that criteria. By the time the Kamloops emerged from the murk on descent, I would already have built up enough nitrogen in my system from the air I was breathing to require periodic stops on the way up to let the gas slowly work its way back out. That decompression time commitment would only increase the longer I stayed; an invisible ceiling, if you will, that would move upward at a pace that I must abide, under serious physical penalty did I not.

Diving the Kamloops was an exhilerating step along my underwater journey, and it popped into my head the other day as I ran the trails in Jay Cooke, preparing for the Wild Duluth 50K. The parallels between hobbies are often easy to discern. Biking and skiing are natural extensions of a silent sport such as running. But, I pondered, what was it about preparing for my first ultra-marathon that felt so familiar? And what did it have to do with jumping off a perfectly good boat to visit a broken one?

For one thing, the number of comrades that are willing to join you for the ride. There are tens of thousands of divers in the United States. But move that diving from warm blue southern waters to the dark 40 degree water of Lake Superior and that number drops precipitously. Then, start ambling down to depths beyond the height of the Republic Bank Building in Duluth and your SCUBA posse gets pretty limited. Running seems to follow a similar curve in that ramping up to marathons has a way of thinning out the fleet-footed masses. Step that up to 30, 50, 100 miles over rock and trail and pretty soon you could almost memorize the names of those that show up at the starting line.

The primary commonality for me, however, revolves around motivation. In his book, Born to Run, Chris McDougall writes, "...[running] unites our two most primal impulses: fear and pleasure." I tend to agree, though ironically I'm running toward the former to get to the latter. When it comes to exploring the realm of deep, cold darkness or muscle-tightening single track, my goal is similar; challenge the anxiety that rises up when one elbows out against his comfort level, defeat it, and experience the excitement of having moved the benchmark.

In all honesty, I have no particular aspirations to be the next John Chatterton, or Scott Jurek. I've been around long enough to know my limitations. But, the beauty of it is, there is a lot of space between them and me; ample space in which I get to explore and find my niche. So, there's really only one thing left to do.

Jump in the water and head down the line...

Over the years I have described my running exploits to many; some of whom are even courteous enough not to assume a glazed look, akin to the clones in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Quite often, those that are willing to hang with me for the duration of, say, a colorful and detailed discourse describing yesterday's grueling 25K training run, will pose a simple question, "So then, why is it that you run?". Having heard this question a number of times, you would think I would have a lofty, well-rehearsed response. Perhaps I could channel the legendary Steve Prefontaine and offer (his quote):

"You have to wonder at times what you're doing out there. Over the years, I've given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started. It comes down to self-satisfaction and a sense of achievement."

I have to hand it to Pre. He was driven. He was well-spoken - and he meant every word. As I gather myself to respond to my inquisitor, I always hope for a similar level of eloquence. So, with all the earnestness I can muster, I answer with:

"I run for Twinkies."

So much for poetry. Admittedly, the person I'm talking to generally appears a little deflated at this response, perhaps hoping to have received something more valuable in return for investing many minutes feigning interest. What can I say? My honesty trumps my artfulness. I'm just not going to kid you. I like to eat, and those gorgeous, yellow sponge cakes with their mysterious, creamy filling top the list.

This affliction leads directly to the corollary quote that I mix in for a bit of variety:

"Another mile, another Twinkie..."

Sounds a bit trite, I know. But the proclamation is grounded (at least partly) in fact. It says right there on the package that one Twinkie contains 150 delicious calories. It also just so happens that a male my age, weight and ability level burns approximately 140 to 150 calories per mile of running, at least according to several online calorie calculators I have used. So as you can see, the claim rings legitimate. I can burn in the neighborhood of 0.93 to 1.0 Twinkies per mile – and there is sound, in-depth research backing up the numbers. Twinkie + Running = Metabolic Equilibrium

I have to admit, however, that getting my Twinkie fix has been a bit troublesome of late. In case you haven't noticed (and I don't know how you could not), Duluth is not a Hostess town. As if controlled by families of a snack cake Mafia, regions tend to be dominated by a single goodie maker – and the Twin Ports are Little Debbie territory. I often envision "Don" Debbie's consiglieri leaning in with great respect, whispering, "The Hostess family is encroaching on the west side. Should I send Twinkie the Kid to sleep with the fishes?"

Well, I don't have time for such posturing, and I have no taste for Zebra Cakes. So, you'll understand my elation upon receiving a bit of a surprise when I got home last evening. A friend of mine, to whom I had been lamenting the dearth of good snack cakes in the region, had been off in Milwaukee, WI. Hostess territory. She returned with one genuine display-size box containing a full two dozen Twinkies - and delivered them to my door. I swear I could see a glowing light shining down upon them, and hear choral music in the background. I'm nominating her for sainthood.

I should be concerned about eating large quantities of any pastry that has a shelf life measured in decades, I suppose. But, hey... I now have nearly a marathon's worth of sponge cake.

Where are my running shoes?