In July of 2008, I ran the Grand Island Trail Marathon in Michigan.  The race is 26.2 miles around the perimeter of Grand Island, off the shores of the Upper Peninsula in Lake Superior.  You have to take a ferry to get there.  You run over dirt trails, sand beaches, muddy slop, and endlessly tall rocky hills; you run along the water’s edge and on top of 200+ foot cliffs.  There are bears.  Only five aid stations are scattered around the island, so you have to carry water with you.

In July of 2008, I ran the Grand Island Trail Marathon in Michigan.  And I hated it.  After I finished, I was in a state of pain I had never before experienced after running.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to throw up.  I wanted to get as far away from Michigan as I could.  As we headed back to my dad’s place in northern Wisconsin, Joy asked me a silly (at the time) question.

“Would you ever run it again?”

My brain immediately screamed NO!  But my mouth was slower.  I thought about my answer for a bit.  Finally, I replied.  “Yes.  On one condition.”

“Steve?” she offered.

“Yes - if Steve runs it with me.”  When I got back to work the following Monday, I hunted Steve (whom I introduced in my last post) down and gave him the full report.  Steve and I are a lot alike; we’ve both done enough road races that they’ve lost some of the challenge.  Trail races were the next step.  As I wowed him with tales of dodging waves, tripping over roots, climbing monster hills, and running through the woods with a Camelbak, I even managed to convince myself that it was a good idea.  The plan was set, and once registration opened in January, we reserved our spots.

After I started running with my VFFs, a silly little thought came to me.  Could I run a marathon in them?  Could I run Grand Island in them?  I decided that GITM would be the perfect test.  The trails were similar to, though more extreme, than my home XC course at Parkside, so I could properly train.  The race was at the end of July, after my other two marathons of the early season, so I could focus on training in the VFFs as opposed to shoes.  I began to run farther and farther in my lizard feet, running 10, 15, 18.6 miles in them.  I felt ready.

In mid-July, Steve had to back out.  Tendonitis in his knee, the doctor said.  Without some physical therapy and rest, he could seriously damage his knee.  I was scared.  I remembered how tough GITM was last year, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go it alone.  But I couldn’t back out.  Scott was coming up with us to run the concurrent 10k.  I couldn’t leave him hanging just because I felt like chickening out.  Besides, I already had one Did Not Start to my name (Lakefront Marathon, 2006).  Nasty weather didn’t knock me out of Deadwood, so I decided there was no way I could wuss out on this one.

So, training continued.  Two weeks before GITM, I got ripped on Guinness and Red Stripe, then took sixth place in a local half marathon (in shoes) the next morning.  I guess that means I was/am in good shape.

On the Thursday prior, we piled into the car with Tes, picked up Scott, and cruised up to Little Rice.  We spent the afternoon and night at my dad and stepmom’s place, and on Friday, set out for Munising.  We dined on Subway and Guinness (carbo loading, ya know).  Actually, a pint or two of Guinness has become a pre-race ritual for me.  If nothing else, it helps me sleep!

That night I got a text message from Steve.  “Be like the Raramuri and have fun.  Sorry I cant be there to suffer with you.  Steve”  This message may have been the key to everything.

The next morning was the familiar sleepy/hyper prep session.  Double check all the gear, is my number on straight?  Check the Camelbak fit again.  Adjust the straps on the KSOs.  Chug iskiate.  Much to Joy’s continual annoyance (and Scott’s amusement), I am an anxious nutcase right before a race.  Until I reach the start line, I have excess nervous energy that I just have to dissipate and I guess I can be kind of annoying.

We made it to the island.  I was stopped at the hotel, at the dock, and while picking up my timing chip by people asking about my fivefingers.   The race began, and for the next four hours or so, I think I averaged just over one question or comment per mile.

The first four miles are relatively flat, sandy fire road.  Then you hit a steep 200-foot climb, followed by a gradual increase for another mile.  You turn around and run back down the hill to the beach, where the course literally follows the water’s edge for a full mile.  The KSOs really shone here.  Last year, a wave got my shoe wet and caused a huge blister.  This year?  I ran through the water with impunity.  I knew my lizard feet would dry out long before any problems.

Shortly after the beach was another muddy 200-foot climb, and then rolling trails through the woods until about mile 15.5.  The second beach.  This was the beginning of the end for me last year.  This year, I thought about Steve’s words.  “Have fun.”  So I did.  The ensuing four miles of endless climbing?  I ran the whole friggin thing, save the last 100 feet, where the trail got a little too narrow along a cliff for my liking.

Then I blazed downhill for the next two miles.  As I cruised into the mile 22 aid station (“Look at his feet!  Those are awesome!”), I realized that I was not only on pace for a course PR - but I was on pace to have my fastest marathon ever.

Alas, it was not quite to be.  Around mile 23 my quads started to cramp.  I know from past experience the fastest way to ease this is to walk.  No running it off.   I thought to myself, I can either get mad that I’m not going to break four hours, or I can shrug it off and keep having fun.  Balls to the clock, I’m enjoying myself too much!  So that’s what I did.  I ran-walked the last few miles and came in at 4:10, a hefty 18 minutes faster than last year.

With a huge (like, psychotically huge) grin on my face, I found Joy and Scott by the refreshments.  Joy asked how I was doing.  “I’M AWESOME,” I said, or something like it.  “And I am VIOLENTLY HUNGRY.”  I was manic, yet I was about a second away from taking another runner out when he got between me and the bananas.  Are you sure you’re ok? Joy asked again.  “Yeah!  I GOT TRAIL MIX WHOOO!”

And then I jumped in the lake.

In July of 2009, I ran the Grand Island Trail Marathon in Michigan.  And it was the greatest race I have ever run.  I don’t know if it was the fivefingers, the good night’s sleep, the Subway, the Guinness, the iskiate, or Steve’s profound text message.  Chances are, it was a perfect storm of factors that led to a great day.

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