Prologue:

Oh man, I have really struggled to write and publish this race report. There is so much to this event that happened in the months and weeks before even arriving in Michigan.

Learning big life lessons is often painful and this experience is no different. Hindsight gives me the understanding that:

If you are old enough to remember watching the Care Bears, Alf, and Fragile Rock, then you are too old to skimp on mobility work.
Do not watch the sunrise while actively running downhill trail in the dark. That is a recipe for needing to tell your Garmin not to call emergency services.
If you can not run the last 6 weeks of peak training due to injury, then consider dropping down in distance.

These lessons seem obvious…now.

Checked in and ready to go!

#TeamPivot

Wednesday: The Journey Begins...Eventually

The plan was simple. Ship the gear box early, breeze through security, fly to Detroit, connect to northern Michigan, and spend the first full day exploring Mackinac Island.

Instead, three minutes after boarding, someone discovered a hydraulic leak.

What followed was nine hours of airport limbo. If anyone in the future asks me that cheesy ice breaker question…if you could have one super power, what would it be? Teleportation. Period.

Deboard. Wait. Delay. Wait some more. Another delay. A broken part. Four hours to fix it. More waiting. Growing anxiety. Acceptance that Pellston and Mackinac Island were no longer happening as we would need to fly to Alpena from Detroit instead. Lisa, who was flying from Florida, had already made it to Pellston but would now take a bus down to Alpena to meet us on Thursday.

Waiting, lots of waiting.

Eventually the airline announced that a replacement aircraft was coming. At that point, what else could we do but make the best of it? Paula and I found a speakeasy in the airport, enjoyed some excellent cocktails, and got a little silly.

Nine hours after arriving at the Denver airport, we finally boarded a new plane. We reached Detroit around 10:30 p.m., caught a hotel shuttle, and slept for a few precious hours at a questionable but free voucher hotel.

Thursday: Finally, Alpena

4:30AM Detroit airport shuttle

A 4:30am shuttle returned us to the airport for our flight to Alpena. Once there, we picked up the rental car and collected Lisa from the Walmart bus stop, which somehow feels like a very fitting ultra-running rendezvous location.

We settled into our VRBO, wandered down to coffee, explored the waterfront, and caught our first glimpse of Lake Huron. Paula squeezed in a run. I organized gear. Lisa and I took a walk.

Meanwhile, travel chaos now turned its eye on the rest of the crew.

Both Kirsten and Kessel had to run through Detroit airports trying to make connections. (Who knew the Detroit airport was actually two separate airports?!?!?) Kessel even attempted to convince a gate agent to hold the flight. The airline was unimpressed. Kirsten missed her connection and spent the night stranded in Detroit while Kessel eventually made it through.

Friday: Final Preparations

Friday was wonderfully uneventful.

We picked up Kirsten from the airport, grabbed a second rental car, my crew reviewed the race book that I had made, we picked up my race packet and delivered drop bags, and enjoyed an early dinner.

Paula surprised us all with a rainbow of sparkle skirts! There was hair braiding. There was tinsel. There was final organizing.

Soon enough, everything that could be prepared was prepared. All that remained was the race. Paula and I made the quick trip to Petoskey to sleep near the start line.

Slumber Party in Petosky!
Saturday:

The alarm rang at 4:00 a.m. and hallelujah I slept almost SIX hours!!!!! This was a huge deal because I ran my first 100 off of 90 minutes of sleep and my second on 2 hours of sleep. I worked with my doctor on a plan. I tested taking trazodone for falling asleep before some races in the last few months of training. Success! Six hours of sleep was incredible! So I woke up ready to go.

Paula set the tone of the morning by playing the Betty White dance song from "The Proposal.” (Also known as "Get Low" by Lil Jon and The East Side Boyz.)

Both of my sisters texted me good luck messages before dawn from the VRBO in Alpena. I texted each of them back, thanking them and informing them that the other one was already awake. (Sibling communication services provided free of charge.)

At the start line, Lake Huron was beautiful and a bit chilly. Paula snapped a photo of me with the lake before making my way to the start area.

Then we were off. Well, they were off. Holy speedy peeps! Meanwhile I wrestled briefly with the RaceJoy app before settling into the run. The course followed the river, climbed onto a paved path, and quickly spread runners apart. Soon we were winding through dark streets before entering the forest. By that point, I was alone.

The forest was dark, like northern Michigan forest dark…which I now know is a thing.

Not long after entering the forest, I heard an owl. It made me smile and calmed me down.

The day was beginning.

The Chase Begins

Paula surprised me at the first aid station just as daylight arrived.

I felt strong. My spirits were high. But by mile 18, it became clear that the course was winning the pacing battle. The rolling climbs were relentless. The trails were technical. I was working hard but simply couldn't maintain the pace targets.

When Paula met me approaching the aid station, she delivered unwelcome news.

bacon

"You only have twenty minutes to spare before the cutoff." That got my attention!

I wasn't struggling physically yet. I still felt strong. But these trails demanded more time than I was able to give them.

The entire crew met me at about mile 25 in the town of Wolverine, where Lisa surprised me by joining to pace for an extra section. Nearly seven miles of packed dirt road followed, and it felt glorious after the technical terrain. Easy packed dirt road and company was exactly what I needed.

At Aid Station 4, I sat down for the first time. There was a dog. Kirsten handled blister care. The crew refilled my pack.

I got back on course alone.

Forests, Bridges, and Lies

The next section brought more single track and the entire Hamilton soundtrack. The trail was a never-ending obstacle course of roots, rocks, sticks, leaves, and uneven footing. At one point, I heard a very odd chirping noise which made my arm hairs stand on end. I had recently learned that mountain lions make noises like this so I naturally concluded I was about to die. I yelled into the brush, "If you are a cougar, you should know that I am a stinky, sweaty pork chop. You do not want to eat me. Gross. Go find something yummy!" Well that obviously changed his mind and he decided to snack elsewhere.

Then came the bridges.

Kirsten heading out to find me

Long wooden plank bridges stretched through the forest. Some were low enough that my trekking poles could touch the ground below, which was fortunate because I needed every bit of extra balance I could get on the slippery leaf covered boards.

Kirsten ran several miles into the woods to meet me before Aid Station 6. It was wonderful to see her early. My knee was bothering me and the steep rollers were painful. She kept assuring me that each steep climb was the last steep climb before the aide station.

Reader, it was never the last steep climb.

Eventually I informed her that she should be wearing the red sparkle skirt instead of the green one because her pants were clearly on fire.

Less than fifty yards from the aid station, we hit a steep downhill. My toes slammed into the front of my shoe. I gasped.

Kirsten spun around with the sound of my pain and asked if I was okay.

"Well," I replied, "something terrible just happened to my big toe."

Night

By Aid Station 6, around mile 46, the sky was fully dark and my sisters were the boss of me.

Lisa told me to eat.

I ate. (Mashed Potatoes)

Lisa told me to change clothes.

I changed clothes. (Night kit perfectly organized into a pre-made oversize zip lock)

Kirsten steri-stripped my big toenail into place. (Gross)

"Bib 135 heading back out!"

An aide station volunteer expressed surprise that I was still continuing. That only strengthened my resolve.

Yes. Yes, we were still going.

Kirsten accompanied me for the next eight and a half miles. The trail remained brutally technical. Kirsten kicked rocks out of my path and moved branches whenever possible.

We encountered the largest porcupine I have ever seen. Kirsten politely requested that it vacate the trail. To my amazement, it complied. (Some moments become permanent memories even when everything else blurs together.)

Cutoffs and Courage

Lisa took over at Aid Station 7. Her mission was simple: get me to Aid Station 8 (mile 60) before cutoff. It was so incredibly stressful. I wanted the finish line so badly that the very real threat of being cut was enough to take my breath away.

We made it with thirty minutes to spare.

The volunteers at Aid Station 8 were wonderfully calm and steady. It was cold, dark, and exhausting, but they projected the kind of confidence that makes you believe everything will somehow be okay.

Then we headed back into the woods.

Again. It was constant rollers- just like at a bike park. Steep ups and downs with leaves blanketing the rocks and sticks. I am convinced the rocks and sticks were put on this earth to destroy all my toenails...jokes on them- I only ended up losing 5 toe nails! HA!

Hillman

Paula joined me around mile 68. At this point the trails gave way to rolling roads. I was so relieved for easy footing that I was happy to run on cement, and that is saying something!

I no longer knew my mileage. My Garmin was charging somewhere inside my pack. My world had narrowed considerably. Paula was so encouraging. She helped me drink water, which was surprisingly difficult as my hands were busy using my poles. She entertained me with stories and games.

Then suddenly something looked familiar. I started piecing together clues. And then it hit me.

"Oh my God. Are we in Hillman?"

For months I had visualized reaching Hillman. In my mind, Hillman represented victory. The climbs would be behind me.

Make it to Hillman.

Make it to Hillman.

Make it to Hillman.

I had finished two 100 milers before– both were relatively smooth, runnable courses on Rails to Trails paths. I truly believed that if I could reach Hillman then it would be smooth sailing from there to the finish line. I could do what I already knew how to do- flat trails!

For one glorious moment, I was euphoric.

The Beginning of the End

We reached the aid station with two minutes to spare. The race staffer allowed me to continue, barely.

But turns out there was another cutoff. I guess my brain conveniently forgot that there was a cutoff at aide station 13. The emotional weight of constantly being chased by the clock was becoming overwhelming. I wanted to cry. The euphoria of reaching Hillman was long gone.

Within a few miles my back began pulling me forward so my nose was pointing to the ground. Every quarter mile I stopped to stretch. I would stand upright for a few seconds before being pulled back down.

At Aid Station 12, someone informed me that I would need to average roughly sixteen-minute miles over the remaining eighteen miles to make the final cutoff. (I was barely holding twenty-two-minute miles coming into this aide station.)

I wasn’t willing to give up yet. In 2020, I was in a similar situation and managed to turn on the jets to finish with time to spare. So, Kessel headed out with me.

She tried everything. Every motivational phrase that had ever worked before.

"Just give me a little more."

"Stay on me."

Finally I told her the truth. "This isn't a matter of effort." I was trying desperately but I simply couldn't make my body cooperate. I was bent ninety degrees forward, using my poles to stay somewhat functional. My arms and shoulders were so intensely tired. I imagine I looked a bit like a walking table.

Kessel called Rey back in Colorado for emergency support. As Rey got on the call, one of my poles got tangled between my legs and I fell.

Kessel caught me just before I hit the ground and pulled me back upright.

Calling it

We created mini-goals. Make it to the top of the hill, that tuft of tall grass, the turn in the road.

The Biofreeze felt wonderful but it changed absolutely nothing.

When we reached mile 88, we celebrated.

Kessel suggested we head towards mile 89.

I laughed. And then I cried. Because I knew. I was done. There was no path from where I stood to the finish line. Not physically. Not with the invisible chains that held my chest parallel to the ground. Not with the time remaining.

The crew car arrived. We drove to Aid Station 13. I officially dropped. The aid station captain came over to the car and talked with me.

He shared that he had recently experienced the same dreaded runner's lean and had DNF'd because of it. He also warned me that my back would probably feel dramatically better within a few hours. That conversation mattered more than he probably realized. Without it, I would have spent days wondering if I made it up because my back was just fine later that day.

Back at the VRBO, the crew helped me inside.

I showered. I fell into bed. I fell asleep almost immediately.

An hour later I hobbled to the couch.

My knee was furious and hurt with any amount of weight.

My hands were blistered.

My toes were horrifying.

My entire body ached with that deep, full-body soreness that only comes from spending nearly two days moving forward under intense stress of cutoffs.

While I rested on the couch, my crew quietly cleaned, packed gear, organized supplies, and took care of both me and themselves.

Eventually we ordered food. We sat together in the living room as a team.

Tired. (100 miles are hard for everyone, not just the runner.)

Disappointed.

In the company of friends.

The finish line didn't happen this time. My very first DNF.

For 88 miles, my crew carried me when I couldn't carry myself. They solved problems, fixed feet, managed logistics, paced endless miles, and believed in me. Thank you.

Sometimes a race report is about crossing the finish line. This one is about struggle, perseverance, and support even in the face of defeat.

Epilogue:

I wrote most of this last October after the race. Then it sat until June. I didn’t know how to write this race recap without sounding sunshiny fake, whiny or full of excuses.

Well at this point, I can say I am not full of excuses. I see the series of events that led to the DNF and most of them were my mistakes. (Ugh, learning lessons is the worst.) As for sounding overly sunshiny or whiny…I think the event had both of those moments, just like normal life. Some moments are euphoric, some are full of beauty and love and others are down right frustrating, painful and sad.

I think part of the reason I am FINALLY finishing this report is that I sort of have closure to it now. My ortho specialist has released me to a “conservative” return to run plan. I am up to jogging 5 minutes at a time. Coming back from injured couch blob is seriously ugly but I get to do it. I am finding happiness on trail again.

Hmmmm, I am realizing now that I didn’t mention what I learned after the race. Well, during October and November I was unable to run due to knee pain. I figured it would work itself out. I kept trying to run the different holiday 5ks. By late December, I thought it was time for imaging…turns out I had a pretty terrible Tibial Plateau Fracture and a partial Meniscus tear. I was on crutches for ten weeks, allowed to bike in the saddle starting in March and only recently been allowed to return to run.

Anyway, back to this epilogue…I am ready to put this down on my life experiences shelf and be at peace with it. The crazy part is that unlike a book, I do not know the ending and I hope this story is not fully finished. I want that lake-to-lake finish line, like deep in my soul I want it. But I am also an adult and I know that life does not always work out how you want it to for all sorts of reasons.

So, is this part one of a comeback story or is this just the story?