Superior 100 Trail Race is an annual event that takes place on Minnesota’s north shore of Lake Superior. A celebration of running, this weekend spent on the Superior Hiking Trail is like none other.

Time on the trail with amazing humans fills my cup no matter the outcome. I have attempted this race 9 times in the last 10 years. A decade later I have my 2nd DNF on this course - did not finish or as I like to frame it - “did nothing fatal.”

Starting the race this year I was not 100%. 3 weeks prior I had an incident that injured my back & sent me into full on recovery mode. My training leading up to the taper phase of the training cycle was on point. I had followed the plan my coach had given me to the best of my ability. I was ready to taper - the taper is a phase of training where you slowly dial your training volume down to rest & recover before the event. Instead of dialing my volume down I had to completely stop training to allow my body to heal.

I ran only a handful of times - no more than 3 miles at a time in the 3 weeks leading up to the race. Instead I spent my time working with my chiropractor, massage therapist, physical therapist & doing mobility work. Each day leading up to the race I remained hopeful that I could start. On Wednesday afternoon of race week I finally felt good enough to really consider starting the race.

Race check in with my “Team Pocket Pickles.”

Friday morning arrived & I allowed myself to feel excited about the journey ahead. My back issue had evolved into a tight hip with some pain that periodically radiated down my leg. I woke up early & spent a lot of time working on mobility & stretching my hips before the 45 min drive to the start at Gooseberry Falls State Park.

Once at the race I stretched a bit more used the rest room, hugged my friends & off we went at 8am.

The first section is just over 4 miles of pavement before hitting the main Singletrack trail that will lead us to the finish at Lutsen Mountain 102 miles later. Those first 4 miles were a breeze as I spent the time with my friends, Alisha & Kelly, who I spend much of my time training with. Collectively we are known as “Team Pocket Pickles” or “TPP” for short.

Once on the Singletrack trail, the girls ran ahead & I knew I wouldn’t see them again until the finish or much later in the race.

I settled into a rhythm & tuned into how my body was feeling. My back felt ok, my hip felt ok & I was moving efficiently. The first aid station arrives at 8 miles in & it’s a quick in & out. Another 10 miles will pass before we see crew at Beaver Bay & this section is remarkably runnable. I continue to move well, but I can tell that my legs are not as fresh as I would like at this point. “Light & quick” I tell my legs & feet as I run along the trail. They respond. Overall I’m feeling good.

Somewhere in the early miles. Photo curtsey of Christian Worby.

“Light & quick” become a mantra as I pass the miles. When I need to hike as the trail climbs or gets technical I remind myself “every step counts.” I move forward & reach Beaver Bay as planned. Matt swaps out my running pack with one that is already filled & ready to go, & I’m out of the aid station in a matter of minutes.

Next up is the Silver Bay aid station & when I arrive we swap packs & then it’s going to be 19 miles before I see him again at the County Road 6 aid station.

Leaving Silver Bay I pull out my hiking poles in anticipation of the climb up to the the beautiful Bean & Bear overlook. My legs are feeling heavy & I’m trying not to ruminate on the lack of training I’ve had the last 3 weeks. I keep my “light & quick” & “every step counts” mantras at the top of mind as I feel the fatigue of the last 25 miles settle into my legs. When I start to think negatively, I remind myself to look around & find something beautiful. When I zoom out of my body & look around, I do find beauty. Ferns changing from green to brown, a pop of red maple leaves, white birch bark in an otherwise green forest, there really is so much to take in! I remind myself to stay present. Be here now. Don’t worry about the miles ahead. Be here now. What do I need to do, right now? Eat. Hike. Drink. Trot along. Stay present.

Bean & Bear Overlook. Photo by Christian Worby.

It’s a LONG 10 miles to the Tettegouche aid station but I know there will be friendly faces there; I allow myself to look forward to seeing them. There’s also a course reroute here & it feels like a lot of extra miles - but I remind myself that it’s not raining this year, so I can probably run the reroute & not get bogged down in the mud like last year. The aid station finally comes up & I’m immediately greeted by the folks from Performance Run Gym. My strength coach, Jack, was volunteering as well as my friend, Lauren & a handful of other super helpful folks. Plus they had bacon & cheese quesadillas!!! I was so ready for some savory foods!! After refilling fluids & grabbing snacks from my drop bag I am back on the trail.

Thank you Lauren & Jack & the crew from Performance Running Gym for the amazing aid station!

I walk out of the aid station munching on my quesadilla & letting my stomach digest the food. I know how long the next section can feel & I’m aware that the sun is going to go down before I get there. I’ve got my headlamp in my pack, but I had really hoped I wouldn’t need it so soon.

As I’m getting into this section fellow runner, Kevin, catches & passes me. I work hard to stay with him & enjoy some conversation to pass a mile or so. At the first big climb I can no longer hang with him & off into the distance he goes. It’s all good. I’m focusing on my mindset, staying present & looking for the beauty all around.

My legs are tired. I’m almost 40 miles in at this point. I’ve been running alone most of the day. My “light & quick” is no longer getting my legs to move. “Every step counts” is moving me down the trail, but it’s getting progressively more challenging. I decide to put some music on. This helps. The songs I have chosen are upbeat & positive. Some of them bring me to tears as I realize how truly grateful I am. I’m alone on the trail & I allow myself to feel ALLLLL the emotions. It was cathartic.

But the miles are passing slower & my legs really are tired. Descending the technical trail is getting harder. I’m not sure how I’m going to do this. Doubt starts to creep in. I look for beauty. I start to cry again. This time out of sadness. The sun is getting lower & it’s going to be dark soon. “Pull yourself together,” I tell myself. Crying won’t help me see when it gets dark - I don’t see well in the dark as it is.

Eventually I drop down the trail onto the paved road that leads to the aid station. I can’t even get my legs to run on pavement. They just aren’t moving.

I find my crew in the dark shadows of the brightly lit aid station.

I will pick up my pacer here. I’m not convinced I will continue, but I know I can’t make the decision before giving it one more shot. That last section was so long & I was so emotional. I need to get back to the business at hand, finishing what I started. I was also likely under fueling. Fuel, dry shirt, more lights & a pacer can make a big impact.

Eventually my pacer, Erin & I head out into the night. She assures me that if we just hike & digest what I ate, I will feel better. I trust her & settle into a hike. Sure enough things start to improve. I follow her foot steps thru the darkness. All I have to to do is keep up with her feet. We walk & jog trot our way into the night. We roll into the next aid station, Finland, at 51 miles at midnight. Matt is there for his last stop before he goes back to the house to sleep. I’m feeling better, but my legs are truly tired. The plan is to spend the next 26 miles with Erin & see Matt in the morning at mile 77.

The first part of this next section went ok. I had some annoying issues with my shoe & had trouble regulating my body temperature. But we were moving. Soon enough though my body was ready to be done. Food sounded horrible, I was so tired & the pain in my hip & back was starting to return. My pace dropped to a crawl. Erin was incredibly positive & focused on problem solving to help me keep moving. There wasn’t much she could do. My tolerance for pain was used up. I had been painful for the last 3 weeks. The idea of putting myself in more pain seemed unnecessary. Plus I didn’t want to make myself so painful that it would take weeks or months to recover. Sore muscles & blisters are one thing. But pushing myself into an overuse injury because my body is not working at 100% didn’t seem so smart.

The aid station following Finland was Sonju at 59 miles. There is no crew access & they won’t allow you to drop. We got there & I sat by the fire. I drank some coke & ate some hot food. Things weren’t good. My legs were shot. My hip was so tight. But I couldn’t stay there.

We walked out of Sonju & I was feeling defeated. My instincts were that I wasn’t going to make it another 40 plus miles. I got more calories in but it didn’t help my hip. I needed to be done.

It’s only 4 miles from Sonju to the Crosby Manitou aid station. About half way thru the section, I made the decision I needed to stop. Unfortunately, there is no cell service at the next aid station & Matt was back at the house sleeping - an hour away. Erin & I brainstormed ideas on what to do. I decided to see if I had enough cell service where I was to call Matt. Matt answered & I told him of my decision. He agreed to drive out to get us. It was 4:45am. He’d barely gotten any sleep. Luckily our friends, Eric & Michelle, were at the house & overheard the phone call. Eric agreed to keep Matt company on the dark, remote drive to the aid station.

Eventually Erin & I arrived at the aid station & I checked in to let them know I wouldn’t be continuing. I was & still am, 100% at peace with my decision.

These races should be fun. They are a chance to push ourselves & see what we are made of. It takes courage to start but I also believe it takes courage to make the decision to stop. I could have hiked it in. I wasn’t pushing cut offs (yet). But I needed to honor the things my body was telling me. At 100k I really felt like I had run 100 miles.

My DNF may officially stand for “Did not finish” but I know it stands for much more than that. It stands for honoring your body, honoring the journey that we are on & knowing that these 3 letters on one race result do not define who we are as runners or as a humans.