Kettle Moraine 100, situated in the western side of Wisconsin near the city of Whitewater, was my second attempt at a 100 miles race, after Leadville in 2019. Besides the much lower altitude and the overall setting, there are some similarities between both courses: prairie, pine trees, single tracks, and an identical cut off time of 30 hours. Kettle is 'supposed' to be a more approachable course for a first 100 miler, is a Midwestern classic, and it has an excellent reputation in terms of organization. So when it was confirmed for 2021 after being postponed in 2020 due to Covid, I was very much looking forward to it. Wherever I've been running (in France, Luxembourg, or Portugal), races are excuses for tourism for my wife and I, and this was a way to discover a part of Wisconsin that we had not explored before. I wanted to see the Kettles!
The preparation went well overall (first full winter in Wisconsin!) as I was able to start a more specific program back in April, after the snow cleared and it was possible to run outside more consistently. Going into the event, I felt that my legs were strong, and I was confident that my they would not be the problem. The unknown for me was how my digestive system would react in high temperatures, and I knew that things were going to get hot. So I spent training time testing different types of nutritional strategies, including mixing gels and solid food, the type of drinks to include, supplement, etc. In the end, I decided to keep my drinks limited to electrolytes. The calories would come from gels and food, and the sodas I could get from the aid stations. For gels, I decided to use a mix of 2 brands with different consistencies and flavors (SiS and Spring).
As far as race strategy was concerned, I knew that I needed to avoid overheating to have a chance to finish (which was the only goal). So I was prepared to follow the advice from local runners reports, i.e., don't start to fast, don't hesitate to power hike when needed, give these small yet persistent hills the respect they deserve, etc.. I prepared a large hat that could handle the sun and the bugs, and a belt where I could put ice. I also came up with what I thought was an elaborate spreadsheet to project my pace. The fun part is that I think in kilometers, but I kept the data in miles, and that ended up being not so funny during the race.
The morning of the race, at 6am, the weather apps were showing a temperature in the 60s and 100% humidity. Sweating came easily and quickly, and by the time I reached the Tamarak aid station, I was already drenched - did I mention that I sweat profusely? I kept to my plan and took it easy, avoided following other runners' rhythm as much as possible so that I would not get carried away, monitoring my breath and ability to speak. Getting to Bluff felt fine, but the signs that this was going to be an extra long day was already showing up. My expected comfortable pace was slower than what I wanted, and I was power hiking more than I thought I would be going into Horseriders aid station. My focus was getting to McMiller aid station where my drop bag and crew (my lovely wife) were expecting me, and to get a refill of energy. Before that, Natalie's new aid station was a gift that gave me a jolt going through the small stretch of prairie, but getting to McMiller seemed much longer than I was expecting (and the shooting range is definitely loud!). I was hot, slow, and barely 30 miles into the race. I had already passed runners that were not doing well, and was getting worried that I might be next. Thankfully, when I reached McMiller, it was an oasis of fun and joy. I took time to refill my products and ice, and get a bit of mental fortitude.
The next section to Wilton Road aid station was actually a good transition to the prairie and getting to the Highway 67 aid station. I have not mentioned it before, but I'm actually a slow runner overall, and especially on flat terrain, and so the bumps and holes under the grass do not favor my clumsy style. Trying to be consistent and steady, and running whenever possible, I made my way to Wilton Road, where I liked the special brand of optimism displayed by the volunteers. I took the advice from one of them and decided to power hike my way until the wooded area. That's when I noticed that even walking was slow! Where was my brisk pace from the training runs of the last few weeks? Nowhere to be seen! By the time I reached Hwy 67, my body temperature was even hotter and I really needed the ice and cold water gun that the volunteers were shooting at me to get out for the last stretch of the first 50K. Also, my crew (my lovely wife) was waiting for me, which was a surprise as we had initially agreed to meet at the Scuppernong aid station. This surprise really helped boost my morale, and I went on towards Hwy ZZ aid station. I enjoyed that section's profile and single trail, busy crossing with other runners, encouraging each other with the usual 'good job' smile or gesture, which gives courage and makes you believe in yourself a bit more (even though I was not convinced that I 'got this' at that time). Getting to Hwy ZZ, I realized that I had not done my homework properly and that Scuppernong…was 2 sides of one coin. "Just a 5 mile loop, this way…". Right! That five mile loop must be a delight in any another context, but on that specific day, I did not enjoy it one bit. I felt glued in a greening mesh of heat and humidity. At any other time, the switchbacks are probably so much fun, but after over 8 hours in the race, I found it difficult to know where I was, where things began and ended, and how long 5 miles can really be. That's when the math hole I put myself in uncovered itself - I could not figure out from the kilometers on the watch how many miles it meant, if I was late, and this was a mind twister. Making it to Scuppernong was a relief ! I changed shoes and shirt, my pacer had arrived in the area so we had a quick chat. The temperature felt a bit better. At that moment, my mind was split between some vague hope that it could still end well, and the disheartening fact that I had to go back all the way to Nordic aid station, where I began!
The inbound part of the course was a long, slow descent towards the dark side of the running world. I knew I was late, but for some reason could not figure out by how much. My stomach was officially saying "no" to anything that would have otherwise looked good. My feet where happily splish/splashing despite the new socks and shoes. And it was hard to come to terms with the fact that I was not even halfway through! That's when the mind goes numb, in a daze, and that things happen on automatic mode. I remember getting to McMiller and thinking 'huh, I'm back'. I was able to pick up my pacer, and we slowly made our way back to Bluff. My walking pace had dropped to the 18mn/mile range, with effort, and I was able to keep it steady and move forward. When we finally made it to Nordic, it was pitch dark, but I can still see the red numbers of the clock marking 18:30…and somehow I remembered that I should be out of Bluff already! My sinking feeling was confirmed when my wife told me "You're late, don't know if they'll let you back out." At this point, it would have been easy to sit down and let it go. For some reason, I did not, and instead when to talk to the RD. "Hi…I just came in, can I go back?". She gave me a solid look for a few seconds, and then said "You look strong…you're going to make up some time, right? Go ahead".
While I did not feel strong at all, I said thank you and got ready to leave before she changed her mind. So around 12:40ish, my pacer and I went back out into the dark, mostly walking, some slow running, doing our best to keep moving forward. At this point, I doubted that I had any real chance of making it back in time, and was kind of in between moods, until we hit Tamarak outbound. The volunteers there would not have any of it: "#16, you look strong! You've got this! Keep moving! Don't stop too long at the aid stations! You're going to finish! Come back and see me tomorrow so I can tell you 'I told you so!'" While it did not help my hurting legs, it did my mind and it supported me to Bluff. From Bluff to Duffin Road was actually not such a bad stretch, as the weather had cooled down and I did not find the path too difficult. I actually enjoy moving at night, so this was comforting. At Duffin, we got the same message again: "you need to make it to Rice Lake by 6:30am for the return, otherwise…". Ouch! Needless to say, we did not make it on time. The stretch to Hwy 12 was probably the slowest - I got really tired, and it took a real effort to keep moving. We got there by 6:15 and another 4ish miles to go to Rice Lake. And I almost stopped. I sat down, paused the watch, and told my crew (my lovely wife): "Why don't you ask the AS Captain what she thinks". Between us, I was looking for an excuse to stop. But when she came back, I heard "she said you can go"! Arrggghhh…really? I can't say no! What's another 4 miles…ok, what the heck. Let's go! And all of a sudden, here we are, climbing the uphill past Hwy 12, on our way to Rice Lake. It was a beautiful stretch of a single track and for some reason we went a bit faster - maybe it was the sun coming up or that my stomach was finally settling down. Towards the end, we saw a couple of teams coming back. They were almost as late as we were, not much faster, but were still going. I was wondering if I was going to stop, or continue if I was allowed. Ten minutes before the aid station, I still could not figure out the answer.
Finally, Rice Lake. We crossed a small bridge and the volunteers cheered us like we were leading! As I sat waiting for word that this was the end, I heard some strange words: "the sweepers are ready, they'll go with him and close the trail, does he want to go?". That woke me up! You see, I have a history with sweepers. In Portugal, that was my specialty - finishing with the sweepers! They are usually super nice, full of energy, patient, and get you going to the end. I figured this was a sign that I could not ignore. Yes, that meant another 17 miles back to Nordic, but it meant 'finishing', actually going the distance! While my pacer had to stop, I decided to give it a go. With two super nice and strong lady sweepers picking up the flags while chatting without interruptions as my back up, I slowly but surely made it back to Nordic, wrapping my up first 100 Mile distance in the modest time of 33:45h. Despite the heat, my legs, my stomach, and my doubting brain, I completed the course. I did stop by Tamarack where I was told "I told you you would make it back!" by the volunteers that waited for us despite the late hour on Sunday. We finally got to a deserted Nordic aid station, with some very kind people holding the banner for me. Dead last! But finisher!
FINISH TIME: 33:54:43
I'm absolutely delighted that I finished. When I think about what made the difference, the philosophy of the RD (kindness, community & ordinary people doing extraordinary things) is what comes to mind. The kindness of the volunteers and their energy made me believe in myself when it would have been easy to find excuses to stop. My crew's (my lovely wife) presence and steady support was the other factor: never judging, patient, and listening. In terms of learning and analysis, the following comes to mind:
• What did not work well: my pacing strategy (too ambitious on paper and underestimating the time I needed in the aid stations); my time management was weak overall; my understanding of the distance (with the kilometers/miles snafu); and having only one pacer (vs. 2 or 3). All things that can be fixed.
• What went well: not overheating and moving forward; nutrition and hydration went great; despite some queasiness, I finished being able to eat, thanks to having found the right mix of gels balanced with solid food, with no calories in the drinks; the physical preparation, which carried me well despite the heat and conditions; and my mind, which did not give up and kept pushing until the end.
Thank you, and see you guys in other events!
