Don’t Skip the Beauty
On running 51.7 miles of northern Minnesota trails.
“Don’t you dare minimize your accomplishment by telling anyone that you ONLY ran fifty miles today—this is one of the toughest trail race courses in the United States,” Superior Fall Trail Race Director John Storkamp announced to the 200 or so runners packed into the Finland, Minnesota Community Center at 5:00 am last Saturday.
Superior Fall 50 race start [photo by Danica Nolton]
As I shuffled to the starting line, shivering, puffs of breath refracting the light of my headlamp and clouding my vision, the advice of my friends and family echoed in my head: “Fuel early and often,” “Give yourself some grace,” “Pound white rice,” “You are a cowboy: kick down the saloon door of this race and prove that humanity is not dead!”
My mantras became: “This is a scenic hike with some running in between,” and “Don’t skip the beauty.”
I did not skip the beauty. The beauty of Minnesota’s North Shore propelled me past the exposed roots of birch trees and red pines, loose rocks, mud and standing water. I ducked for branches, climbed over downed trees, scrambled near-vertically over boulders, ascended climbs longer and steeper than any I encountered in my training.
The aid stations with their mythical names beckoned me through the forest: Temperance, Sugar Loaf, Sawbill. I smiled even bigger as I heard the crowds gathered in the aid stations, knowing I would soon encounter my all-star support crew: Leah, Tommy and Mike. Their day was just as long as mine: fifteen hours of navigating the route, waiting, cheering me, asking me what I needed, feeding me PB&Js and handfuls of Classic Lays, refilling my water bottles, telling me that I was “looking good” even though I most certainly was not.
Leah and Mike offering me PB&J at Crosby-Manitou (mile 11.2)
Egg biscuit after Leah cleaned me up at Sugar Loaf (mile 20.8)
I ran on endorphins, often in complete solitude, from pre-dawn until well past sundown, when the rain and gusting wind and biting cold energized me. I focused not on my race pace, but on the moment, on the beauty surrounding me, inspired by the other 50 and 100-mile runners I encountered on the trail.
At Sonju Lake (mile 7), the very first aid station, as I was waiting in line to use the port-a-potty, I saw a woman with close-cropped curly maroon hair and wildly-patterned leggings being guided to a medic. A wide ribbon of blood was streaming down her face from her left eyebrow to her chin. What a shame to fall hard that early in the race, I thought. Shortly after the second aid station, Crosby-Manitou (mile 11), I heard someone charging up fast behind me on a downhill. I stepped aside on the trail to allow the bloodied woman from Sonju Lake to pass. I yelled “Get it!” as she ran ahead. I never saw her again. Nearly a week out from the race, I came across her finish line photo and race results. Fiona McKenna from Kaministiquia, Ontario is a 62-year-old absolute baddie who finished the race two and a half hours before me! First of eight female runners over 60.
62-year-old BOSS, Fiona McKenna, who passed me at mile 12 and never looked back [photo by Christine Armbruster]
My last 50-miler was in Hell, Michigan: Dances with Dirt in September of 2019. I was six years younger and twenty pounds leaner. And faster. I finished Dances with Dirt in 10h22m—good enough for third place (out of a tiny field of fifteen finishers). Two months later, Tommy and I ran the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim-to-rim, a distance of some 48 miles with 20,000 feet of elevation change. I was training for a Spring 2020 50-miler when an overuse injury sidelined me for much longer than I could have foreseen.
Dances with Dirt 50-miler, Hell, Michigan. September 2019
I had long been pondering a return to trail running when Tommy prompted me to sign up for the Afton Trail 25k in July, 2023. Afton was my gateway drug. I followed up with the Hixon 25k in LaCrosse, Wisconsin that autumn. A spring trail 20-miler in 2024 prodded me further. And then in late 2024, Tommy and Alysha enticed me to sign up for the May 2025 Ice Age Trail 50k.
Only four weeks into my twenty-four-week training plan for Ice Age, I texted Tommy to tell him I was signing up for the Fall Superior 50-Mile lottery. I invited him to enter the lottery as well. After some reflection, he responded “I feel like I need to get in a strong 50k before I’m ready to dive into another 50 mile.” I began to regret my decision. Tommy is a much stronger runner than me, and if he is saying No…was I really ready to run a 50k and a 50-miler in the same year? Would the same overuse injuries that sidelined me in 2020 flare up and prevent me from even starting this race? Tommy quickly followed up with an offer: “If you do get selected in the lottery, I’ll be there to crew you, come race day.”
Tommy, Leah, and Leah’s dad Mike supported me every step of the way. Taking time away from work and other obligations, traveling four hours north of St Paul (Tommy flew in from Chicago for the occasion). I truly don’t think I would have finished without them there with me.
Tommy, Leah, and Mike after surprising me outside of Temperance (mile 34)
But I finally finished, in the drizzle, in the dark, with my crew cheering me, only an hour before the race cutoff. Fifteen and a half hours on the Superior Hiking Trail, 51.7 miles, over 17,000 feet of elevation change (like climbing up and down the Sears Tower 11.7 times).
Everything hurts today, most notably, my face from smiling.
Sidetracked While Searching for Inga Paulson
…at noon the body of old Jerry Cowles with the head burned beyond almost all recognition, was found across the river in the gravel pit…the smell which goes up from Hinckley is a terrible one.
While scouring Canadian newspapers for any sign of Mrs Ingaborg Paulson, I came across this harrowing tale of a forest fire that ripped through northern Minnesota in the Manitoba Free Press, Vol XXII, No. 42, dated Thursday, September 13, 1894. The headline: PILES OF DEAD BODIES. You won’t read this in the newspapers of today.
The general executive committee in charge of the relief works in this section has made a report of the dead bodies recovered thus far as follows: Hinckley, 271; Sandstone, 77; Miller (often called Sandstone Junction), 15; between Skunk Lake and Miller, 12…total, 450(!) Following is a complete list of the dead at Sandstone: Peter Kallam, quarryman; Mrs. Peter Kallam and three children; Mrs Marion Greenfield and five children; Mr and Mrs Gus Anderson and three children…Peter England, quarryman, Mrs Peter England and seven children…Mr JA Johnson, merchant; Mrs JA Johnson, infant child and 12 year old boy…fourteen unrecognizable and fifteen not yet identified…
Everything at Sandstone has burned, the only thing left standing being the school house walls and big bank safe. The only living things to be seen there Sunday night when the relief party arrived were a horse and pig. Sixty-two bodies were buried thus far in town, not counting the numbers which have been found in the outlying country and buried where found.
The fire was seen by the Sandstone people four hours before it struck the town and everything was packed up in readiness to move to Kettle River, east of the village. Before any one was aware of the real danger, the fire came upon the town from the north, east and west and burned the whole town inside of five minutes. Many were unable to reach the river and died in the streets. A blacksmith was burned to a crisp in his shop where he was shoeing a horse, so sudden was the fire…Those who reached the river remained most of the night. The survivors are entirely destitute…whole families are wiped out.
Judge Nethaway, of Stillwater, has been one of the most active in relief work and has been all over the surrounding country…Seven miles northwest of Hinckley, he came to a spot where a farm house had stood. In front was a well and over to the left could be seen five human bodies and bodies of several animals. Nethaway went at once to the well and there found down in the bottom a little 12-year-old boy, in eight inches of water, who had lived there since Saturday with nothing to eat.
…at noon the body of old Jerry Cowles with the head burned beyond almost all recognition, was found across the river in the gravel pit…the smell which goes up from Hinckley is a terrible one. Where the depot stood was a burned, charred hand; farther down the tracks lay a woman’s limb while out in the surrounding country one finds human trunks, heads or bones. Late in the afternoon the body of a man with intestines exposed and body black as coal was brought into town along with a child’s fearfully burned body, and a man’s leg and shoe. All were thrown into one pine coffin and buried.