The Keweenaw Trail Running Festival consists of three races in one of the most picturesque parts of Michigan: the Keweenaw Peninsula. Jutting off the rugged Upper Peninsula into the cold, sapphire waters of Lake Superior, the Keweenaw is home to mystical loons, majestic wolves, copper-ore folklore and excellent trail running. I was hoping to experience all during my trip.

Saturday, July 10

It was a beautiful day in Copper Country - blue sky, no wind, little wisps of cirrus clouds and three great trail runs ahead of me. This morning's 10K race at McLain State Park was energetic, scenic and competitive. Some very fit "Yoopers" (U.P. residents) fought it out for top spots in the women's race. I settled for a win in my age group, which fortunately for me had only "Trolls" (people living below the Mackinac Bridge) and non- Michiganders in it; we were all in the same boat as far as adjusting to the terrain.

The course snaked through groves of aspen, cedar, balsam poplar (with its pungent, sticky buds) and patches of sweet fern that, crushed under running shoes, gave off its warm, earthy perfume for mid-packers to enjoy.

We ran for a short stretch beside Lake Superior, whose beaches are not at all like Lake Michigan's. Where there should have been hard-packed sand, there were gritty pebbles and large, rounded stones that made footing difficult. After we re-entered the rolling woods, I helped runners behind me by pointing out a root via full-length body slam (I ate dirt).

We continued past Bear Lake, which seemed an ideal place to sneak a peek at a moose (unfortunately, they are no longer common in this part of the U.P.). We finished with a death slog along the beach and a long straightaway: the kind that puts fear in your heart as you visualize all the people you passed in the last mile gaining on you with terrific finishing kicks.

The 10K was followed by a splendid organic breakfast provided by local farmers and caterers. They brought real dishes, so as not to waste paper or plastic, and served us fresh fruits, homemade granola and Finnish breads. The awards, handmade by a local potter, were delightful too.

I whiled away the afternoon with my mother, who endured my racing fetish so she could join me hiking on Isle Royale the next week. We had lunch at Lindell's, a great old cafe in Lake Linden, and stopped in Eagle Harbor at the Jam Lady's for the world's best condiment: thimbleberry jelly. We drove to the top of Brockway Mountain for superb views of Copper Harbor; the height helped me visualize my next race, the evening Hill Climb.

The Hill Climb, which started at seven on the Eagle Harbor beach, went 5.8K uphill. Small change compared to races such as Pike's Peak or Mount Washington, but for Michigan this was serious climbing. We ascended 821 feet in 3.6 miles, and our thighs were screaming.

The trail was full of toe stubbers and ankle biters, but the views from the top were worth it. We climbed one smaller ridge, which afforded a fleeting view of Lake Superior, before plunging back into the woods for a steep ascent to the rocky summit.

The Hill Climb, though punishing, was my favorite race of the Festival, because the trail was rugged but manageable, and rewards at the top were priceless. Despite my visit to a higher peak hours earlier by car, this view seemed more stunning - the only way to achieve it was to climb the darn hill yourself.

We stood gasping for air a few minutes, then headed back. (The descent was not part of the race, thank goodness.) Race director Jeff Crumbaugh had asked us beforehand to leave the summit quickly to avoid trampling sensitive native plants there. As a student of ecology and a self-professed earth steward, I admired his knowledge, attitude and concern.

After the race, a spectacular buffet was served up by the Shoreline Cafe, conveniently located on the Eagle Harbor beach. The Hill Climb awards, given after the 25K the next morning, were jams canned by the Holy Transfiguration Skete monestary in Eagle Harbor, a treat to regard as highly as a fine wine. Much to my delight, I won a jar of thimbleberry jam to savor when I returned to Ann Arbor.

Sunday, July 11, 2004

The next morning, under stiff legs, I joined other tired-yet-excited runners for our final race: the 25K. It took place on the famous Maasto Hiihto cross country ski trails and was rugged from start to finish. We had tough climbing early, but encountered milder undulations through much of the first 10K. My legs came around after a few miles, prodded by my mind's excitement at the idea of an unbelievable third age-group win and my stomach's desire for a pannukakku (Finnish-oven pancake).

I zoned out during most of the second 10K, focusing on pumping my arms and getting my legs to turn over. As we reached 10 miles, I found myself struggling: my body was low on fuel and sweating buckets, despite the comfortable running temperatures and overcast skies. Still, I found joy passing through an especially-crazy part of the course that made me feel like a criminal running from a pack of hounds. The trail bobbed and lurched through a young maple stand with dozens of hairpin turns and dippity-dos, as my high-school cross country used to call them. In fact, he spent hours at practice teaching us how to run dippity-dos successfully. (Thanks, Coach Tompkins!)

As we passed the final aid station with just 3K to go, I decided to put the pedal down. This effort proved all-consuming. I staggered around in the finish area, then was surprised to learn that, indeed, I had won my age group. Exhausted but elated, I collected my handcrafted pottery and jam, watched a few rounds of the horse show taking place at the nearby fairgrounds, and returned to the hotel to prepare for my next adventure; hiking Isle Royale with my mom. MR