Altra, you're fired

I fired the Altra Superior 2.0 as my trail shoe last week. 

And until they get their problems with the upper's durability fixed, I'm not going back. 

This was my second pair of Superior 2.0's. The first pair failed two weeks before Superior 100 at my 30K birthday run. Both shoes were torn on the inside and outside next to the balls of my feet. The fabric when shredded looked like a flimsy woven tarp with its crinkled threads. No biggy, I thought. Those shoes ended with just under 220 miles on them. They'd had a good go, but the outsole was still in wonderful condition. But for the tears, they had lots of good life still in them. 

I was frustrated and wanted to look elsewhere, but the proximity to Superior 100 and minimal miles between that Saturday and the race in 13 days meant I couldn't adequately ensure that a never-before-raced-in shoe would cut it. Cardinal Rule #1: nothing new on race day. And so I dutifully got a second pair, this time a half-size smaller (to my usual 8.5) with the thought it would minimize side-to-side movement in the toe box and eliminate one potential for lateral stress on the fabric. 

The shoes performed admirably at Superior 100 - no (new) blackened toenails and the soles looked great considering how rugged that course is and how much I walked. But there was a similar hole on the inside of my left shoe, just behind the ball - right in the same spot. It looked like there is stiff backing to the upper just behind where the hold was, like the stiffness is contributing to the tearing of the softer, more pliable fabric that comprises that portion of the toebox. 

I wore pair number two one more time, at the Afton Fat-Ass race last week, and only because we were instructed to wear clothing that could sacrificed to the deer-trail god of the single track. I did as instructed, and made the hole bigger. The shoes were retired with 143 miles on them, ~103 of which was Superior 100 and eight were from the Afton FatAss.

I'm not the first person who has complained about durability that I'm aware of; those that I run with have anecdotes, either of themselves or personally, from these issues. The durability is a major issue, as a failure in-race could mean a DNF for lack of footwear. Runners have been forced to drop because of a shoe failure, and I don't want it to happen to me. 

I'm not broken up about this right now either. The Superior 2.0 had some other non-major issues, mostly related to fit, and so I'm OK looking for something better. The padding around the heel and ankle was the biggest issue, as it was cushy and made it difficult, if not impossible, to really get a good lock on the heel. Ginger Runner had a great review of the shoe, and I agree with his praise and criticisms. Hopefully these issues get fixed if and when they issue version 3.0. 

It's also the off season, and so I'll have plenty of time to test another trail shoe or three in time for the 2016 season. I also usually do plenty of running in dedicated trail shoes in the winter because of the snow conditions here in MN. The City may plow the paved public trail behind my house, but it doesn't - and can't - get everything. 

What will I look for in a new pair of trail kicks? Lots of the same stuff that I did when I first went searching after New Balance discontinued the 1010's.

What that is, I'm not sure right now. 

A cross country race?

I ran the Rocky's Run 6K today. It's on the women's course for the Roy Griak Invitational at the U of M's Les Bolstad golf course. The race is fundraiser for the family of Rochelle "Rocky" Racette, who died in 1981 in a car accident. She was damn fast, for lack of a better description. Proceeds from the race fund a scholarship in Rocky's name. Her sisters were on hand today and dolled out baked goods to finishers. 

I ran it on the open invite from John Storkamp. I've never raced the course myself, as I was an alternate (our number eight guy, usually, for a seven-man team) if my memory serve me right one of the years my high school CC team ran there. 

I was an odd trail runner among much thinner, visually sinewy specimens of the human form. As Storkamp, BJ Knight, Steve Quick and myself joked while we were on the light, the four of us had some huge trail runner calves. Everyone else was tall, lanky, and waif-like. I felt grossly out of place. 

I thought on a really good day I could put down a 24:00, which is essentially a 20-minute 5K just extended out another kilometer. That mean going out in a 4:00 first kilometer and about a 6:26 mile, which is what I thought I was capable of knowing that I have had a sub-6:40 tempo/threshold pace from earlier in the 2014-15 running season. That said, I had no predilections about running well. This was a run-like-you-stole-something, an effort that was long enough to require endurance but fast enough that it's going to hurt to push hard. I also thought I could keep the last member of the U's women's team in sight. Sure thing, boss. 

I was tight and sore from this week's all-to-jittery runs, but loosened up plenty in the low 50's weather with 15 mph winds after I put down a solid 4K on the course at an easy jog.

I went out in a 3:57 first kilometer, and felt pretty proud of myself for letting the huge pack go. This was going to hurt, but I didn't want to implode.

But I knew it was going to get harder, and that 240-second per kilometer pace wasn't going to hold. The first mile was 6:35, 2K in 8:20, 3K in 12:45, two miles in just 13:55 ish (meaning I ran a 7:20 second mile?). Things got better consistent after than, and I ran mile three in 7:19 for a 21:12 or so.

It was in this last 1,200 meters that I felt like I had plenty of gas in the tank, and that I could have run another kilometer or three at that pace, but couldn't go much/any faster. As I described it earlier on Twitter, I felt like I was a two-cylinder car that had a 25 gallon gas tank that got 45 mpg at the Indy 500. Low top speed, but the ability to hold that speed for a hell of a long time. I guess I need to do some 1,000 meter repeats (again) in training this year. 

I came in at a 27:06, approximately, about 20 seconds behind the last member of the U's women's team. All in all, it was a damn good day. 

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2016 race plans are up in the air. Like many, my schedule will firm up on Dec. 7 when Western States holds its lottery. I put in for the race this year, my first ever entry, and so my one ticket and pitiful chances is only there to help me in years to come. Also on the radar: Zumbro Midnight 50; spring Superior 50K; Bighorn 100 (need a hard rock qualifier); and Superior 100; etc.

2015 Superior 100: Mechanical redemption

My four attempts at the Superior 100 have now produced to two buckles. After one finish rooted in sheer dumb luck and two ugly DNF's for separate reasons, I am redeemed. Two Thousand Fifteen's race was executed with a mechanical calmness. Buckle now firmly around my waist, the monkeys from 2013 and 2014 are off of my back.

My village

These races are never accomplished alone. Everything takes a village, and 100 milers are no exception. 

My wife deserves top billing for granting me the early mornings, late nights, toddler nap times, and not sleeping in on weekends that have allowed me to get in runs of hours and hours upon end. She hears me chatter, type, and brainstorm. She checks in on me, making sure that I run if I tell her I am going to do so. She plans birthday runs, attends fatass events, and does it all with a supporting smile. 

She had company in this race from one of two best friends from college, a woman who now calls Duluth home. Lauryn kept her company from CR 6 through the rest of the race, and she opened her house to us as base camp for the weekend. 

I had two pacers. Kevin pulled the overnight shift, running/walking/hiking 20-plus miles in eight hours from 9:10 PM at Finland to 5 AM the next morning at Sugarloaf. It was his first time at an ultra and his second trail run ever. He performed admirably. 

Mark finished the 100 last year, and he took over pacing duties when we left Sugarloaf. He was cool, calm, and collected. He always kept me in good spirits. He made sure encouragement came in light, appropriate doses, advised the (faster) runners in the shorter distances to give me a wide berth when they tried to pass. He and Kevin listened incessantly as my watch's timer went off, and each prompted me to plug away on my calories and fluids when it did so. He took care of himself and needed little, if anything, from my crew or the aid stations when we arrived at each oasis.

How it played out

I ran with Rob Henderson from almost the beginning to CR 6. He graciously let me lead for most of those 43 miles. My ultra shuffle is slower than his, we agreed, and it allowed me to run my race and allowed him to take it nice and easy, thereby allowing him (particularly later) to run his. 

On a few occasions, we separated - I tended to be in and out of aid stations faster. I got out of Silver Bay first, and he caught me a few miles in before we got to Bear and Bean Lakes. We left Tettegouche together, and separated at again CR 6 when I was ready to roll and couldn't find/see him. He caught me again shortly before the Sonju aid station with his pacer Peter Schnorbach. And when he and Peter came by just before Sonju, Kevin and I let him go, his natural cadence faster than mine. We performed the same swapping of places after Sonju because we cleared the aid station faster than they did. 

Kevin and I ran functionally solo for the balance of our time together, save a few times we passed a runner or were passed. We plowed down into the Manitou Gorge and marched firmly back up. That wasn't so hard, was it? The issue with Crosby is that the first six-or-so miles is very tough to run consistently, the section as a whole feels longer than its already-long 9.4 miles reveal. Add to that me forgetting - again, for likely the fourth time - that the Caribou River must be crossed before the swamp and birch forests are reached. 

Mark and I did the same, only I started out too jittery when leaving Sugarloaf. The Coca-Cola was setting in, me thinks, and I broke a cardinal rule: nothing new on race day. I took my poles, thinking that they would be helpful as I marched more. I was wrong, if only because they didn't have mud baskets. The trail was full of mud, and pushing down/back on the poles to make effective use of them required more energy that I anticipated. I abandoned them at Cramer Road. 

And with the exception of a few difficult sections - particularly getting up and down Carlton Peak and the slow march the followed it to Sawbill, Oberg, and finally Lutsen, everything went smooth with a cool and cold mechanical precision to it. Minimal drama, just consistently putting one foot in front of the other until I was done. Oh, and eating consistently to the sound of a watch's beeper. I ran continuously and hard in every section, including bounding down the hill into Temperance, and I never experienced muscle soreness or tightness in-race. Any soreness I did have was gone by Tuesday following the event. When I could not run, I was still able to power hike at a good clip. 

I do not know the source of this calmness. I can only chalk it up to experience and attitude. I went into this race with a positive, confident attitude bolstered by adequate rest in the 90 prior days, a solid eve-of relaxation (of Karnazes's account of his first Western States finish and Trason's battle with the Tarahumara at Leadville a la Born to Run plus some single malt to enjoy), and the sole goal of finishing. Solid weather, good training, and excellent company made for a perfect race. 

Mark Smith saved my race

A good pacer can save your race. Mark Smith saved mine on the climb to Carlton Peak.

I knew something was wrong. I was exhausted, hot, dizzy and starting to fritz in and out. I was drinking, eating, and walking. But I was wearing down, withering under the coming heat and blasting sun. I confirmed the same when I spurted water on by back, and perked up briefly while it dried. 

Mark realized my issue and took action. He grabbed his Buff and soaked it in water. Where that water came from, I don't know. He called my name and told me to put it around my neck.

It was too wet, and my mind flashed to the dripping red bandana Matt Patten donated to my cause at Kettle. I would not repeat that experience. Like my mile-48 breakdown at Kettle, my core body temp was too high. But I needed to control it without dousing my shorts or causing collateral damage. And so I squeezed Mark's offering, and brown water flowed out. I put the moist tube of fabric on without comment. I felt like Ian Sharman, only slower and mortal.

This cycle repeated as we slowly humped up, around, and down Carlton Peak. I walked slowly, methodically, head down not saying a word, just alone in my head and what was five feet in front of me. 

But for Mark, I may not have been able to save myself. The death march from Sawbill in to Lutsen would have been uglier than it already was (going to be).

What matters in 100 milers is what goes on between your ears

Ed Sandor's Lesson for 100 Milers put me in the right mind frame for this race. Go read it, right now, especially numbers 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, and 12. How did I apply them? 

I promised my wife that I would be cheerful and smiling the entire day - numbers 7 and 8. And save a brief snap at my wife when she, not knowing my mental status, went against my train of thought - see next item - I was happy, cheerful, and grateful. Even when my head was down and all I could do was walk and push, I was present and could crack a smile if asked. I also learned just how hard and exhausting smiling is when you've been running overnight. 

Each section was a point-to-point run to the next aid station - number 3. I never allowed myself to think about the race in its totality. I talked myself, often out loud, out of thinking about the whole race. I had a minor freak out at Sawbill when my wife said that I had only 15 miles left. "Don't say that!" I snapped. "You're 75 percent done," she replied. "Don't say that. I have 5.6 miles to the next aid," I replied. My wife took my two bottles and walked away to fill them, something she hadn't done all day. 

Everything that happened in the race was accepted as it was - number 6. "This just is," I said to myself over and over again. Nothing on-course got to me, even when I banged the crap out of my toe and yelled loud enough the next day's marathoners could hear. It just was. It's sunny and we're exposed. It just is. Deal with it, get over it, keep moving on. 

And when the going got tough and I could barely run, and realized I may have to walk it in, I knew that was enough - number 2. "Only one-hour miles to go," Brian Woods said to me as we refueled at Oberg at 3 PM. 

Lastly, I refused to allow myself to do math - number 12. I never tried to calculate my pace, and I kept splits on my watch only to give myself an idea of how long a section took (or how much likely remained). 

Other amazing performances and random observations

John Mass walked the entire course, and finished in 31:33:XX. Walked. He started way in the back, and was in 209th place at the first aid station. He finished 54th, having moved up steadily all day - and making a big jump of 46 places to 73rd between Finland and Crosby. Of all of the runners there, John may the only one who has the discipline to attempt such a feat and the physical fitness and walking cadence to pull it off. He caught me on the Cross River and we stayed together until he passed me on the climbs toward Temperance. I passed him again while bounding toward the aid station, and he passed me for good on the climb up to Carlton. 

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Harry Sloan created the Superior 100, then called Sawtooth 100, in 1991. He modeled it after Western States, where would rack up 12 finishes. He ran this year's Superior 100 well, and sported his silver buckle - how gorgeous they are in person - at the pre-race meeting. He finished in 37:58:32, a mere 88 seconds before the 38-hour cut-off. It was his first finish in what was his first attempt at the course (regardless of iteration). You can't make this stuff up. 

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A marathoner passed me on the climb up to Carlton Peak. "Hundred miler? I'll say a Hail Mary for you," she said as she passed. A quarter mile up, she stopped and put her stuff on a bench - likely while she was relieving herself. She passed me again. "Matt? Another Hail Mary!"

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I won the "Fastest Matt" division. 

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At least two wolves treated Mark and I to their howls at 5:20 AM shortly after we left Sugarloaf. 

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I actually saw - noticed? - very few volunteers at aid stations. At most aid stations, I needed to sit down for one reason or another. Early on, it was to handle foot issues. Later, it was just because I needed to get off my feet to more effectively pound calories. And all of this occurred at the chair my crew set up for me. Where did I notice who was volunteering at what aid stations? Lisa Messerer (Wild Knits) drove up the gravel hill toward Crosby as I was marching and running forward. I introduced her to Kevin, told her I was feeling awesome, and most importantly, relayed that I wouldn't need her to scrape me out of an aid station. She was pleased and drove on. 

I also overheard Robyn Reed's voice at Sugarloaf. "Is that Robyn?!?" I yelled. "Yes!" she replied. Nothing more, but I was pumped to get that brief reply. 

And of course, Maria Barton's tiki-bar-inspired aid station that was Crosby was something I was looking forward to all weekend. I told Doug Barton that I was beating him, and he said something appropriately snappy back. 

(Shout-out to Brian Klug here. The dude took third, ran sub-24, and was at Oberg at 1:50 PM when I showed up. He was wearing Luna Sandals and his feet (or just his left foot?) were (was) taped. An outline of red something poked around the tape. In my exhaustion, it looked like a fist-sized blister had been popped, exposing the delicate layers beneath the immediate epidermis. It looked like it hurt but I could not focus on it any more. In reality, I was merely looking at a tattoo.)

Finally, when I ran out of Oberg, Ed Sandor gave me a high-five so hard my hand hurt until I hit the trailhead. The man exudes positivity and happiness, and I was excited to see him when I rolled out. 

Training

I had a semi-elaborate training plan this year, and I more-or-less followed it until Zumbro. Zumbro whalloped my ankle, and it took longer to recover than I expected. I probably began running again too early and I was in great shape for Kettle, but the time between the two races isn't really enough to recover, do some training, and then taper for a 100 miler.

Post-Kettle, my training was spotty: I ran about 48 times over those 90 days and racked up approximately 310 miles. I would have liked to have run more than twice that. I think the result of this lower mileage is that my body had time to recover from running-related issues from Zumbro and Kettle so that Superior could really be run well - even though it sure didn't feel like it at the time. The downside is that I couldn't properly peak or periodize for Superior 100. Whatever it was, hindsight is 20/20.

The end result is that since 10/19/14, I have done the following: 

• Ran 257 times
• Ran in 235 out of 327 days
• Ran about 1,875 miles
• Ran for 306 hours and 25ish minutes
• Finished three ultras and DNF'd from a fourth
• Volunteered at three ultras

Of course there is room for improvement. I'd like to boost the number of running days up in 2015/16 season and get closer to a 1:1 run/day ratio. I also felt that I was gaining a tremendous amount of fitness when I was consistently running 60-plus miles per week. I'd like to get there more often next year. 

I'm ready for Sawtooth, 2015 edition

The body is ready, the mind is willing, and every cell of me is looking forward to the annual reunion of what can best be called a tribe of those persons so crazy they spend hours on their feet suffering, fighting their personal demons, and seeking only a moment of shared catharsis when it is all said and done.

My goal is to finish. Nothing more, nothing less. No time goals - I have them, yes, but won't say or publish them publicly. My wife and her best friend are crewing, and a good friend of mine from high school is taking me through part of the overnight. I may be joined by a second pacer for the last marathon or so, and we'll see what kind of train we can make fro Oberg to the finish. 

My training since Kettle has been spotty at best. June was spent in recovery from Kettle. July and August were for the most part full of work-related stress. The body can only handle so much stress regardless of source: work, running, or family/home. When the cup runs over, bad things happen. Sickness and fatigue sets in, tempers get short, etc. I had a couple weeks of these symptoms caused by preparing for, conducting, and coming down from an out-of-town trial. Then a ramp up and down from a vacation, and then a brief to the court of appeals caused a couple more weeks of the same. Each required me to set my practice on hold for a week or more, and address one specific thing. And the work doesn't stop while in that state - I can't just tell the world to stop calling or emailing me. 

But the pleasant side of that is once the work that caused the stress is completed, the body rests and relaxes and returns to its state of fitness. I was concerned earlier this month - I've got the draft post to prove it - that my stress was a sign that I hadn't fully recovered, wasn't carrying fitness forward, or that my training since Kettle had been insufficient. One fitness-affirming run changed that, and my confidence has been restored. 

Finally, I turn 30 on Tuesday, and several runners shared a 30K birthday run with me yesterday. I've wanted to do a run like that since about 2010 - one mile or kilometer for every year of age - but with Superior fall races, whether the 50 or 100, has always been too early in the year and my birthday too far from a weekend to really pull it off. This time, the run was held 13 days from the start of the 100 miler, a sufficient time to run an 18.5 gentle trail run. Thanks again to all who came, provided birthday goodies, and shared the trail. You all are the reason this community is a tribe of runners that keeps us all coming back. 

Can any other sport do this?

In what other sport is the crowd of spectators larger, and their resulting cheers louder, for the last finisher than any other finisher, including the first? 

Gunhild Swanson finished the 2015 Western States 100 with six - six! - seconds to spare before the 30-hour cutoff. 

And this phenomenon is not unique to Western States, 100 milers in general, ultras, or marathons. It happens at all levels of competition, with supporters, spectators, and loved ones cheering on every finisher, in every race, from junior high track and field to professional races. 

Maybe it it is the party atmosphere that exudes upon the gathering of a tribe of runners. Maybe it is the knowledge that any finisher is a champion (hell, any starter is too - there is no getting to Western States or the start line of any ultra without paying your dues). 

But I've been in Gunhild's spot, or at least close. I finished the 2011 Superior 100 with less than 32 minutes to go before the 38-hour cutoff. Here's what I wrote of one man in the crowd at my finish, where the party was in full swing: 

One man, who had long, black hair and dark skin, was sitting on one of picnic tables. He was absolutely floored that I came in just over 30 minutes under cut off – his implication was that it was absolutely amazing that anyone was still coming in. I took from his wonderment that there was a magical finishing time during which finishing is no longer amazing. 

I have been Gunhild Swanson. We all have, or we all should. It is a humbling experience, and brings a runner closer to the essence of sport. And we should be grateful to those who stuck it out to bring us home, and we should exude love, support, and adoration for every finisher - including the Gunhilds among us.