Editor's note: Marquette County coverage is provided by Lake Superior Community Partnership.
Forestville Trailhead, 5:15 a.m.: A constellation of headlamps flickers through the birch trunks, illuminating runners shuffling toward the timing arch. The pre-dawn air, sharp with cedar and damp quartzite, hums with anticipation. Near the front, 49-year-old Jeff VanderKooi adjusts the laces of his well-worn shoes, grinning as he wonders which of Marquette’s granite peaks — Sugarloaf, Top of the World, Bareback, or Hogback — will claim the most runners before the day is done.
Among the crowd, 58-year-old Greg Borzick takes in the scene from a different vantage point. He lined up at the inaugural Marquette Trail 50 in 2009, when just over 50 runners tested a course stitched together by hand and fueled by coolers and water jugs. This year, a calf injury kept him from toeing the line, but he was not absent. Instead, he cheered from the sidelines as his daughter Samantha took on the 50k for the first time, finishing in 7:01.
“I was extremely disappointed not to be out there,” he admitted. “But it was surprisingly fun to spectate.” Even from the sidelines, Borzick remained a fixture—sharing advice, greeting old friends, and drawing strength from the event he has helped shape for nearly two decades.
A race built by hand
Now in its 17th year, the Trail 50 has grown into one of the Midwest’s signature ultras. The numbers are deliberately limited: 175 for the 50-mile and 350 for the 50k, to protect the trails and preserve the event’s grassroots culture. It feels less like a commercial spectacle and more like a Saturday group run, though the elevation profile tells another story: 5,520 feet of climbing in the 50-mile and 3,237 in the 50k, over terrain laced with roots, rocks, and ridgelines that
Ultrarunning Magazine rates as both hilly and technically punishing.
![]()
Courtesy of Marquette Trail 50This year, the trail made its demands clear. Of 106 entrants in the 50-mile, just 67 finished. The 50k drew 317 registrants, with 271 crossing the line. The numbers reflect what veterans already know: the Marquette Trail 50 is as much about resilience as it is about speed.
Race co-director Paige Dubois understands that balance. A former 50k finisher herself, she now spends the year coordinating logistics and volunteers.
“None of us get paid; we’re just out there because we love it and we want to help raise money for the trails,” she said. For her, the event’s homegrown nature is its strength. The start line opens on Black Friday and fills that same day. Race shirts are understated and soft, aid stations are staffed by familiar faces, and the countdown to “go” comes not from a horn but from a chorus of voices echoing in unison.
VanderKooi’s return
For VanderKooi, the Trail 50 is as personal as it is punishing. A native Michigander who now splits his time between Las Vegas and the Upper Peninsula, he first attempted the 50-mile in 2013 and did not finish, a DNF in ultraspeak. “I didn’t realize what I was getting into. Pictures don’t do it justice,” he recalled. He returned in 2014 to finish, and a year later placed second.
This year he finished in 10 hours, 37 minutes, faster than his 2024 effort of 10:45, but shy of his career best of 9:21. His slowest time remains 13:34, a reminder of how variable the course can be depending on weather, trail conditions, and the body on any given day.
VanderKooi runs without headphones, without distractions. “It’s bare-bones, quiet time — processing, thinking,” he said. Training on desert trails near Vegas prepares his legs, but he finds his rhythm with Marquette’s Muffin Runners and the Friday Four Peaks crew. What keeps him coming back isn’t just the competition but the shared humanity of trail running. “The community is so welcoming and friendly, and everybody is cheering everybody else on,” he said.
![]()
Courtesy of Marquette Trail 50His favorite stretch comes after conquering Hogback and Top of the World, when the trail tips downhill toward the Harlow Lake aid station.
“I’m running into people doing the 50k or the 50-mile. Just the energy of people saying, ‘Hi’ and ‘Good job’ — that’s my favorite,” he said.
In those flowy miles, with hydration vests bouncing and strangers offering encouragement, VanderKooi feels the heartbeat of the race.
The historian
If VanderKooi represents the present of the Trail 50, Borzick embodies its history. He was there at the beginning, when founder Joe Jameson strung together loops of singletrack and convinced a handful of runners to see what would happen.
“There was no big arch, no timing mat,” Borzick recalled. “Joe’s flipping hamburgers at the finish line for everybody.” The first aid station was stocked with the bare basics. “We didn’t know what we were doing,” he said with a laugh.
Since then, Borzick has run nearly every year, watching the race move from Tourist Park to Forestville and evolve from a ragtag experiment to a capacity event. This year sidelined but still present, he watched his daughter thrive on the course he helped build.
For Borzick, the absence was bittersweet but also grounding.
“It’s such a fulfilling thing to challenge yourself and see what you can do,” he said. He believes the balance of ultra running is “60 percent mental, 40 percent physical.”
His advice to newcomers remains simple: “You don’t have to run the hills. Hike the peaks, or you’ll blow up. Save it for the flats and don’t skip the aid stations.”
Now, his focus is on recovery. As Samantha carried forward the family’s presence at the 2025 Trail 50, Borzick set his sights on rehabbing his calf in time for a family hiking trip to Iceland. For him, endurance is never just about racing. It’s about carrying strength into the rest of life.
Weather, terrain, and spirit
No two years at the Trail 50 are alike. One August may bring cool mist, another searing sun. In 2025, conditions were kinder than the fog and slick rocks of 2024, yet the finish numbers tell their own story: the course always wins its share. This year, 100 percent humidity at the start of the race left runners, with their sweat-soaked shirts and shorts, looking like they’d taken a dip in Lake Superior.
Dubois said part of the challenge lies in out-of-area runners underestimating the technicality and variability. “I don’t think they understand how tough it is,” she said.
But she also sees those DNFs turn into repeat registrations, evidence of how the race pulls people back.
![]()
Courtesy of Marquette Trail 50Some of the most powerful moments don’t happen at the peaks or even the finish line. They unfold in aid stations where volunteers know your name or offer a hug, on quiet climbs where a stranger offers encouragement, or in the long silences where runners wrestle with their limits. VanderKooi notes that when he’s feeling awful, a breakthrough can occur where “10 miles later, I feel like a million dollars,” a testament to pushing through discomfort and the potential for unexpected shifts in mindset and morale.
Borzick agrees. “You might not remember your finish time, but you remember who helped you get there.”
Carrying it forward
The Marquette Trail 50 endures because it has never strayed from its roots. The field may have grown, aid stations may be better stocked, but the essence remains: a trail, a clock, and the shared will to keep moving.
Each year adds a new chapter. For VanderKooi, 2025 marked his eighth 50-mile finish on the course, a testament to persistence and to the community that first drew him to ultra-distance running. For Borzick, the year became one of reflection rather than participation, a reminder that the race is as much about belonging as it is about miles. For Dubois and her volunteers, it was another season of holding together a grassroots event that funnels its proceeds back into the very trails it treads.
As the sun lifted above the ridgeline this August, runners emerged from the forest—some early, others long after dark. Whether they bowed out at mile 30 or crossed the line at mile 50, they carried something forward: through exhaustion, through elation, through forest and fire road.
In the end, the Marquette Trail 50 remains what it has always been: a gathering where strangers become companions, and where the loudest sound isn’t a horn or a cheer but the steady rhythm of footsteps on ancient rock, and the quiet conviction carried in every runner’s chest: ‘I am strong’.
Melissa Wentarmini is a versatile writer, editor and copywriter based in the Upper Peninsula with a focus on impact-driven storytelling that highlights feature stories, community reporting and human-centered journalism. An avid runner and cyclist, she is actively engaged in her community in various organizations and enjoys spending her free time with her family and Vizslas.