The Race That DNF'ed Itself

One of my favorite movies in high school was Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  Even though that movie is almost forty years old, it still stands the test of time, even today.  It's a true classic coming-of-age comedy film.  One of the most memorable lines in the movie is in the beginning when Ferris says to the camera "life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it".  He's right.  Life has been moving pretty fast for me lately.  Between being a dad, being a husband, and balancing a career with my own interests and taking care of myself, things have been pretty on the go.  I would have loved to have written about my experience at the Newport Coast 50K sooner, but life happens.  Better to do it five weeks later than never, I suppose.

There is always a story to tell after an ultramarathon, and this one was no exception.  In fact, the experience was a first for me.  This was the first race I ever participated in that was cancelled after it was already underway.  I was climbing slowly up a hill along a wide trail in Crystal Cove State Park on race day.  The next aid station was only about a quarter of a mile away.  The heat had been quite brutal, so I was looking forward sitting down for a few minutes and regrouping at the check point before tackling the last ten miles to the finish line.  When the aid station eventually came into view at the crest of the hill, a volunteer saw me approaching and ran down the trail towards me.  "How's it going dude?" I called out as I waved.  "Pretty good" he responded.  "But, I got something to tell you" he continued.  "And you're looking pretty fresh, so this might be bad news for you".  I was confused. "What's up?" I asked.  "The race has been cancelled" he responded with a coy smile.  I burst into sudden fit of laughter.  "Are you messing with me man?" I asked.  He laughed too, but said that he was dead serious.  I was caught off guard for a second, but considering the events of the day that I had experienced so far, it made sense why the race director made the difficult decision to call off the remainder of the event.

I knew even before I arrived that morning that it was going to be a warm day.  It was mid-May in Southern California, so that wasn't super surprising.  Heat has knocked me on my ass pretty hard during some of my past ultras.  Who could forget my epic DNF at the Cool Moon 50-miler last year when I was lying down in the grass on the trailside, puking, while heat engulfed me?  I was hoping today wouldn't turn out like that.  A 50K is still a long distance, but I remained hopeful that I could grind my way through it despite the high temperatures, which were forecasted to be in the low eighties.  I followed the crowd of runners on foot down the road from my car to the Lower Moro Parking Lot where the start line was.  On my way there, I consumed some last minute electrolyte tablets to mitigate any cramping and dehydration.  The race got off to a pretty good start at 7:00 AM on the dot.  We had a powerful and uplifting send off from the race announcer, Andrea, a local running coach who is one of the founding members of the local kids running program, WeROCK.  As we made our way up into the hills of Crystal Cove, the views of the beach and the ocean appeared in front of us as we headed to the first aid station.  I could see the waves crashing on shore at the beach right across the street from the race start line several hundred feet below.  Although the view was spectacular, the temperature was beginning to climb.  I also learned ahead of time that this course was pretty exposed with very little shade.  I was enjoying myself, but I wanted to get as far along the trail as I could before the real heat kicked in.

The plan was for Samantha and Aidan to come meet me in the finish area after the race, and the three of us would head to the beach together for a little while.  Samantha has always been supportive of my ultrarunning, but she took a particularly strong interest in my participation in the Newport Coast 50K.  She was born in Los Angeles, but when she was ten years old, her family moved to Irvine, where she attended middle school and high school.  She knew Crystal Cove well, having spent lots of time at the beach and on these trails during her formative years and into her adult years.  She thought it was especially cool that I was running a 50K on her stomping grounds, and her excitement was a nice energy that carried me along the way.  I passed through the one somewhat shady spot of the course during a descent and ran past several tall mustard flower plants on single track trails.  I was treated to some more beautiful ocean views, followed by some nice views of the canyons, and I climbed and descended for several miles along the rolling terrain.

When I eventually arrived at the aid station at the midway point of the race, I was delighted to discover that they had popsicles and ice bandanas.  By then, the temperature was at least eighty degrees and I was drenched in sweat.  I thanked the volunteers and headed out to take on the second half of the race.  As the trail rolled on and the sun beat down, things started to get a little funky.  I cheered for the oncoming runners who were behind me and on their way to the aid station, but most of them looked pretty wrecked.  I was starting to feel a little wrecked myself from all the climbing and descending in the heat along the rolling hills.  At one point an oncoming runner emerged over the crest of the hill.  She was shouting into her cell phone and cursing out whoever was on the other end as she limped down the trail.  Apparently she needed a change of shoes and some foot lube.  Whoever was on the receiving end of that call was apparently responsible for supplying the items to her at the aid station.  At some point before her ranting became audible, she must have learned that they weren't at the aid station like she expected them to be, much to her dismay.  Emotions can run high during ultramarathons.  I continued to pass more oncoming runners over the next couple of miles.  Many of them were simply too exhausted and cooked from the sun to respond to my words of encouragement, other than giving a nod.  When I arrived at the nineteen mile mark, I saw two helicopters circling above the course.  That probably wasn't good news.  My viewing of the helicopters was interrupted by a brutal leg cramp.  It stayed with me for the next mile as I tried to shake it out.  

As I climbed the hill to aid station at mile twenty-one, I knew I was going to have to stop and regroup.  I felt as though I could still finish, but I needed to sit down, stretch out my leg cramps, and take in some cold liquid before I continued in this heat.  That was the aid station where I was informed that the remainder of the race was cancelled.  The volunteer explained that the intense heat was causing so much carnage along the course, the firefighters, paramedics, and medical staff who were onsite couldn't keep up.  They were being stretched too thin, and scrambled to attend to the numerous runners who were suffering from heat exhaustion.  I was told that at least two people needed to be airlifted off the course.  The aid stations ran out of water and provisions for the first time in sixteen years, even after several runs to the grocery store.  Unfortunately, we don't get to pick the weather on race day.  Things can go pretty sideways when mother nature doesn't cooperate.  The race director and staff made the tough decision to call the rest of the race off.  That was the right move.  It was better to go that route than to put the volunteers' and runners' safety in jeopardy.  I can honestly say I wasn't particularly upset about that decision.  In fact, I was kind of relieved.  I felt like I could have kept going, but it would have been ugly and painful.  We were routed down an alternate trail, which was a shortcut to the finish line.  All 50K runners would instead get credit for completing the 25K race.  The shortcut was about a mile from the finish line, so we covered twenty-two miles in total.  

I called Samantha and told her the news so she and Aidan could head out to meet me.  As I hobbled along the mostly downhill chute to the finish line, I chatted with other runners and inquired about how they felt about the race being cancelled.  Some were indifferent about it, like me.  Others were disappointed because it was supposed to be their first ultramarathon.  I could understand their frustration.  After I crossed the finish line and the dust settled, I rendezvoused with Samantha and Aidan.  We spent the next couple of hours at the beach near Moro Canyon, just north of Emerald Bay.  It was super nice.  Since it was a hot day, the area was thriving and it was nice to have a family beach day.  I later found out that the temperature on the race course that day was eighty-seven degrees.  That's freaking hot when you're running on an exposed trail.  It was unfortunate that the race was called off at mile twenty-one, but in my case, I didn't mind too much.  I guess it's because I've been doing this for a while.  There will be other opportunities to get my ass kicked on the trail in the heat.  But on this day, I had a much better time getting twenty-two trail miles in, not being totally destroyed, and chasing Aidan around in the sand.

Running in Advanced Darkness

A starry night in Big Bear Lake

Public interest in long distance running has certainly come a long way in recent years.  Nowadays, there seems to be more mainstream interest in the sport than ever before.  Even if long distance running has become somewhat trendy, running solo through the night and into the morning still remains an underground activity within the long distance running universe.  I enjoy running through the night by myself because of the solitude and peace and quiet that it brings.  It's probably a good thing that I enjoy it because I can't name a single one of my friends or anyone I know within the running community who would be willing to run with me through the night for enjoyment.  Night running requires more gear than running in daylight, with the main essential item being either a headlamp or a flashlight, or both.  Before I left my home in Laguna Niguel on Friday night, April 25th, I made sure that I had both, along with a reflective vest and reflective ankle bracelets.  This additional gear was required because where I was going to be running later that night wasn't just going to constitute normal darkness.  It was going to be in the wilderness, up in the mountains, miles away from anything darkness, at least in some areas.

Over the last several years while living in Silicon Valley, I've prepared for my upcoming ultramarathons each spring by doing an all-night run on highway 89 along the shore of Lake Tahoe.  This year I would be changing things up a bit and doing a twenty-mile through-the-night run along highway 18 and highway 38 around the circumference of Big Bear Lake.  It was a new adventure and I was looking forward to it, but like any running adventure, I was trying to approach it with caution.  I mapped out the route in advance, identified the more risky areas where I would need to be careful, and made sure I knew which direction to go and at which junction.  I left my home around midnight and arrived in the town of Big Bear Lake around 2:30 AM.  I parked my car in an empty space behind the darkened Grizzly Manor breakfast restaurant.  After I made my preparations, I stepped out of my car to get adjusted to the cold.  The temperature was right around thirty degrees Fahrenheit, and the cold mountain air was crisp and refreshing.  I stood next to my car examining my surroundings.  Except for the occasional car that passed by on Big Bear Boulevard, the town had long since shut down for the night.  I took off running down the main road through the heart of the town.  Even though every establishment I passed was closed, the setting was well lit.  I used only my headlamp during this section and saved my flashlight for the darker and more remote sections that I would be running through later on in the night.

                  Leaving town and heading into a dark section on highway 18

As I continued into the outskirts of town, the only signs I saw of human or animal life were the occasional passing car and a coyote.  I was pretty lit up, so it would be impossible for cars to not notice me as they drove by, so I wasn't too concerned about them.  When the coyote saw me approaching from a hundred feet away, he quickly ran away and his glowing eyes disappeared into the roadside wilderness.  I was glad to see that he retreated when he saw me, but I remained wary of my surroundings.  I eventually passed by the Big Bear Lake welcome sign off the side of highway 18 near the Castle Rock Trailhead.  When I stopped to take a selfie near the sign, I shut off all my lights so the flash would work correctly.  Once I took the picture and my phone went dark, I noticed my surroundings.  It was completely pitch black all around me with not a single sound to be heard.  Just sheer darkness, pure silence, and the cold mountain air.  I stood there taking it in for about ten seconds before I realized how scary it was.  "Oh, shit" I exclaimed as I fumbled to turn my headlamp and flashlight back on.  With my devices lighting the night back up, all was suddenly good again.  Our parents always told us when we were kids that the dark was nothing to be scared of, but damn.

I soon made a right at the lake onto highway 38 and headed for the town of Fawnskin.  The route I was running was at an elevation of about 6,700 feet, but I was handling the altitude pretty well.  I was enjoying myself, but at this point, things were starting to feel a little unsettling.  My whole world was confined to the beam of my headlamp and flashlight.  Beyond that was pure darkness.  I was now far away from the the town center of Big Bear Lake and miles away from my car and everything else.  Seeing a roadside sign warning motorists of potential bear crossings didn't help the situation either.  Let's face it, I'm probably a little nuts for putting myself in this situation.  This isn't something a normal runner would do, let alone a normal person.  It was approaching 4:00 AM, and everyone I knew was probably at home in bed sound asleep.  But here I was halfway through a twenty-mile through-the-night training run around Big Bear Lake.  Go figure.  I tried to not let the thoughts of fear take over my mind.  Yes, I was in a vulnerable situation and something could have happened, but I chose to focus on what I could control, and that was being aware of my surroundings.  It was a cloudless night in the mountains.  When I looked up, the sky was filled with shining stars and the tops of tall pine trees dominated the horizon.  It was a beautiful sight.  I thought about Samantha and Aidan, who, like everyone else, were sound asleep at home in bed.  I knew I belonged out here doing this.  It just felt right.

                                       Entering Fawnskin.  It was so dark!

                                              Sunrise around mile fifteen

I passed through Fawnskin and continued to enjoy the nighttime mountain setting.  Time passed, miles were covered, and at about mile fourteen I made a right turn off highway 38 onto Greenway Drive and headed towards Big Bear Boulevard.  At this point the crack of dawn was upon me.  The sun was starting to light up the eastern skyline and hit the tops of the pine trees on the horizon.  Watching a sunrise after running through the night never gets old.  A new day after rallying through the night brings a great sense of optimism and energy.  I reeled in the final miles in the chilly morning air and eventually arrived back at my car, completing the twenty miles.  It was a great adventure and I loved every minute of it.  Adventure is what I crave and these all-night training runs never fail to satisfy that craving.  After I took a few minutes to regroup, I headed into Grizzly Manor for some breakfast.  Even after twenty miles of running, the giant chocolate chip pancake I ordered still kicked my butt, and I needed a takeout box.  I felt hungry again when I was midway through the drive back home, so I rolled the leftover pancake up like a burrito while I was driving and chowed the rest of it down.  I left town just in time.  The clouds had rolled in during the morning and it began snowing pretty heavily about twenty minutes into my trip home.  It rained the rest of the way once I arrived back at sea level.  Thankfully the weather had somewhat cleared up by the time I arrived home, and I was able to spend some time with Aidan and Samantha at the park.  Needless to say when Aidan went down for a nap later on that day, I did too.

Even after twenty miles, I still couldn't finish it

        

How To Not Hate Running

Running is one of my favorite things to do in life.  Anyone who knows me well enough understands that.  I've been doing it for sixteen years, I've logged thousands of miles on pavement and trails, I've been writing this blog for eight years, and I've written a book about how running made my life better.  It's safe to say that running plays a big role in my life.  However, believe it or not, there was a time in my life when I hated running.  In June of 2008 I was taking a summer health and holistic class to get my final credits before college graduation.  Part of the class time was spent working out in the gym, and our professor gave us the freedom to do whatever exercises we pleased, as long as we logged enough hours in the gym to complete the course.  I enjoyed experimenting with gym workouts, but I distinctly remember how much I disliked running after I tried doing it on the treadmill.  During that time, I was drinking a lot of beer, eating a lot of unhealthy food, I was an occasional cigarette smoker, I stayed up late and slept in late, and I wasn't very physically active.  I weighed more than I do now, but I think the only reason why I wasn't overweight was because of all the walking I did around campus.  In other words, I was by no means, a runner.

Over the last few months I've met a handful of people around Orange County who have told me that they want to get into running, but they don't like it.  They want to like it, and they try to give it the benefit of the doubt, but the obstacles that they face while doing it make them feel discouraged.  When someone tells me they want to get into running but they hate it, the first thing I tell them is "I know what you mean, I've been there".  And that's because I really have been there.  Running can be brutal.  There's a reason why coaches make players run as a form of punishment in team sports.  It's not fun for a lot of people.  Runners warm up to the sport at their own pace.  Some become fanatics right out of the gate, and for others, it takes time.  People dislike running for various reasons.  Here are the most common reasons I've heard, and here's what I would say to people who want to overcome those challenges:

"I want to get into running, but after a mile, I'm dying and out of breath".  This often occurs because people are trying to run too fast or their breathing patterns are out of whack.  What people need to understand is yeah, you're going to be out of breath if you try to run too fast right from the beginning.  The advice I would give to those people is to slow down.  If you're dying after a one mile run, that's perfectly okay for a newbie.  Try running the mile at a slower, steadier pace, even to the point where you feel like you're going too slow.  Running slow is okay.  Trust the process.  We all have to start somewhere.  In most cases, if people can slow down, and get comfortable with running distance at a slower pace, their fitness will improve and the speed will come naturally over time.  To improve breathing patterns during running, I would recommend spending a couple of minutes every day taking deep, full breaths and letting them all the way out.  I remember doing that when I was training for my first half marathon and it really helped.  So, if you're dying after a one mile run, take things down a few notches, go nice and easy, and try to focus on good breathing patterns.

"I want to get into running, but when I run, my knees start to hurt and I get shin splints".  Again, I get it.  These things happened to me in my early days.  Weird pains that I never experienced before were popping up.  I don't give a damn what doctors say, or anyone else for that matter.  I'm going to set the record straight: running is not bad for your knees.  There are people who run well into their sixties and seventies who have been doing it for decades.  I've seen people in their nineties finish half marathons.  These folks are living proof that running doesn't murder your knees.  If I go see a doctor and they tell me I'm going to have bad knees because I'm a runner, I'm getting up and leaving.  If your knees are hurting or you're getting shin splints, I would encourage you to take a look at your form.  Most knee and shin pain comes as a result of coming down too hard against the pavement on the down stride.  When you're out running, are your steps heavy?  Do you find yourself stomping down on the pavement hard?  If so, try to lighten up your steps.  Try taking shorter, smaller strides, and lighter steps.  Imagine the ground is lava, and you want to minimize contact.  This technique weaves into slowing down your pace if you feel like you're out of breath and dying.  If you're experiencing pain, trying taking lighter steps, shorter strides, and minimizing contact with the ground.  That will help your body work these aches and pains out.

"I want to get into running, but I get bored.  When I run, I just want it to be over".  No one likes being bored, especially me.  Boredom is a really fast way to kill the joy in any activity that can be fun.  If you find running to be boring, I'd recommend trying things to make it more interesting.  Try putting on some good music.  Music that you brings you to a good place, psychologically.  To me, running and music are one of the best combinations in the world.  If you'd rather not wear headphones, try running in a place that you find comforting.  Maybe a scenic place, or just a place that makes you feel relaxed.  There's all kinds of cool places to run.  The beach, the park, the woods, you'll find somewhere enjoyable.  Even if you have to drive there, it's worth it.  Another recommendation to combat boredom is try running with a friend or a group.  I prefer running alone most of the time, but many people have greatly benefited from having a community around them and people to run with, including my wife, Samantha.  It's a fun way to catch up with friends, and if you're all suffering together, it can bring you closer.  

"My problem with running is I always want to run faster than the last time I ran.  I don't like plateauing or having setbacks".  I know, it can be frustrating.  We all want to progress and improve with each run, and when we experience setbacks it's demoralizing.  What I would say in this situation is you don't have to be at your best every time you run.  That's simply not realistic.  That's a hard thing for some people to accept, but you can look all over the internet, and you'll find plenty of stories about elite runners having bad races and experiencing struggles and setbacks.  We're humans, not machines.  Every run doesn't have to be better than the last one.  In fact, it's okay if it's worse than the last one.  The next one after that will be better.  Having a bad run doesn't make you a bad runner.  Keep at it, and don't put too much pressure on yourself.  For me, once it becomes all business and pressure, and no fun and enjoyment, it's over.

If you want to get into running, but you're having trouble liking it, I hope this helps.  I would like to say that this advice may not work for everyone.  There's no right or wrong way, and different things work for different people.  These are just techniques that have helped me not hate running.  Running is not for everyone, and I would never force it on my son, my friends, or anyone else.  I will never tell anyone that they need to run.  But I would encourage people to give it the benefit of the doubt, trust the process, and take the time to get good at it.  It won't happen overnight.  I take a lot of pleasure in seeing people get into running by overcoming the initial hurdles.  I hope to see it more and more.       

 

My Ten Answers To Ten Questions Runners Should Never Be Asked

Question: Did you win your race?

Answer: Yes, I win every single race I run.  That’s sarcasm. No, I didn't.  That’s not why I run.  I don’t run to win the race.  The only person I’m racing against is myself.  My goal is to perform my best and improve myself as a runner with every race I run.  And I need to be enjoying myself.  The moment I start taking it too seriously, that's when the fun disappears.  And if that happens, what's the point?  I run to relieve stress, not cause it.  I care about my time and how far I run, but I don't care about running farther and faster than other people.  My peers can do their thing, and I'll do mine.  I'm supportive of my running friends and everything they accomplish, but I don't feel the urge to try to upstage them.  Everyone has their own life and their own stuff going on.  I don’t care about being better than other people.  I’m there for the experience.

Question: Are you fast?

Answer: I don’t know.  Not really.  But maybe a little?  My typical marathon finish time is around four hours, and my typical half marathon finish time is around an hour and forty minutes.  However, life happens, and I get busy.  If I'm not running as many miles as I'd like, these times might be slower.  It's not that I don't want to be running, it's just sometimes other things like fatherhood and work take over my reality and leave me with very little energy, time, and motivation to go out and run.  It ebbs and flows, but I always find myself back out there.  When I run ultramarathons, I run anywhere from ten to nineteen-minute miles, and I’m out there all day, and into the night, sometimes.

Question: Aren't you worried that you'll have bad knees?

Answer: No.  And anyone who tells me that I’m going to have bad knees from running is probably just saying that because they’re a naysayer.  If bitter people see you doing something that makes you happy, they'll say anything they can to be a buzzkill.  I’ve run thousands of miles on pavement and trails, and my knees are fine.  It’s all about having the proper form.  Stomping down too hard, especially on pavement, can increase joint pain, so the trick is to have your steps be as light as possible to minimize impact.  Having proper footwear that fits your running style helps too.

Question: Are you still into that running thing?

Answer: Yes.  Don’t call it a “thing” like it’s just a weird phase I’m going through.  I've been running for sixteen years.  It is part of my life, my story, and my identity.  Eventually the day will come when I can no longer run.  Hopefully that will be later rather than sooner.  But I plan on making running part of my reality in one way or another for the rest of my life.

Question: How was your fifty-mile marathon?

Answer: It was good.  I thought a marathon was fifty miles long, but I found out later that it’s 26.2 miles long.  No wonder everyone was giving me a weird look when I turned around at the finish line and kept going the other way.  All sarcasm aside, a marathon is 26.2 miles.  Any other distance?  Not a marathon.

Question: Isn't it too cold to go for a run?

Answer: I ran the St. Croix Winter Ultra 40-miler through a winter night in Minnesota when the temperature was seven degrees below zero Fahrenheit.  Does that answer your question?  I run better in the cold.  You can think of me as being like a Siberian husky or a polar bear.  The colder the better if I'm outside being active.  Heat on the other hand, that's a different story.  Heat is a major obstacle for me while running.  It's forced me out of a couple of ultramarathons.  But finishing a 50K in Mount Shasta when it was 103 degrees, even if it took me eight hours, was pretty cool.

Question: Is it safe to run at your age?

Answer: Yes, it is.  Anyone at any age can run as much as they damn well please.  I've seen people in their sixties finish ultramarathons and people in their eighties and nineties finish marathons.  It's also really cool to see young kids running races and getting started young.  I'm sure it builds their confidence, just like being a skier did for me as a kid.

Question: So, if you're a runner, you must eat really healthy, right?

Answer: Is eating an entire package of Chips Ahoy! Chocolate chip cookies during a winter ultra eating healthy?  Pushing the sarcasm aside again, I don't have any strict dietary rules that I follow.  Everything in moderation.  I try to be conscious of my calories to an extent, and I make sure to include all the food groups on a regular basis.  I enjoy pineapple, avocado, apples, and a good salad.  But I equally enjoy cookies, doughnuts, and French fries.  

Question: Are you going to do the Barkley Marathons?

Answer: Yeah, it’s going to be my next ultramarathon.  St. Croix and the Tahoe Rim Trail 100 just weren’t enough.  More sarcasm.  The Barkley is in a whole category of it's own.  I've learned to never say never, but I would say it's unlikely that you'll ever find me in Frozen Head State Park waiting for Laz to light up a cigarette and start the race.

Question: If you run 100-mile races, you can probably run a marathon really fast, right?

Answer: I actually get this one a lot, so I’ll give a serious answer.  Not necessarily.  Running a 100-mile race is a completely different experience than running a road marathon.  When I run ultramarathons, sometimes I have time goals, but the ultimate goal is to finish.  When I’m out there on the trails and climbing and descending constantly, I’m not running the whole time.  There’s a lot of hiking involved.  That helps to keep my legs strong, but it doesn’t mean I can be a speed demon on flat and paved surfaces.  I usually go for right around a four-hour finish time when I run a marathon.  If I want to run faster marathons, I’ll need to start doing more speedwork. 

Single Day Adventures

Mammoth Mountain is one of my favorite places to visit.  It is a skier and snowboarder's dream.  The resort includes a gondola that patrons can ride to the summit of the mountain at 11,053 feet and be treated to stunning panoramic views of the Eastern Sierras. The mountain typically receives around 400 inches of snow per year, and features 3,500 acres of skiable terrain.  I know a handful of people who would gladly take me up on my offer if I were to invite them on a trip to Mammoth.  Where I would probably lose them is if I told them we were going to make it a single day trip.  That means we would drive five and a half hours to get there, snowboard for a while, then drive five and a half hours back home all in one day.  It sounds crazy, but a few weeks ago, I did just that.  

My neighborhood in Laguna Niguel was dead silent as I packed my car up with my snowboarding gear outside.  Aidan and Samantha were sound asleep in our townhouse.  I took off around 3:45 AM and made my way through Orange County and the Los Angeles area, finally getting onto the 395 freeway in Mojave.  The 395 runs all the way to the Canadian border, but I've always thought of it as the road to Mammoth and the Eastern Sierras.  I followed the remote highway through Owen's Valley, and enjoyed the scenery when the sun eventually came up.  Normally sunrises energize me, but shortly after I crossed into Inyo County, I was nodding off.  Even though it would delay my arrival time to Mammoth, I decided to pull off the road into a rest area to take a nap.  Better to play it safe.  I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  Across the street from the entrance to the rest area was a single gas station.  Other than that, it was open land with mountains in the distance all around me.

After about an hour of napping in the front seat of my car, I dropped into the nearby gas station for a hot cup of coffee, and continued the journey.  I passed through Lone Pine, and rolled into Bishop, where I stopped at a doughnut shop to get something to eat for the road.  On my way out, I encountered Catra Corbett standing outside of the Starbucks next door.  Catra is a well known ultramarathon runner who lives in the area.  I had met her at a few races over the years, and I knew she lived in Bishop, but I didn't think I would be running into her, so that was a cool surprise.  With her pink hair and colorful clothing, she was hard to miss.  We chatted for a few minutes about running before we bade each other farewell, and I hit the road once again.  I finally arrived at Mammoth around 10:15 AM.  The weather was pretty cloudy with a few flurries flying around, and the temperature was pretty cold, right around the freezing mark.  Heavier snow was expected to arrive later on in the late afternoon, but I planned to be on my way home by then.  

It was a great day on the mountain.  The snow was good, and there was a decent amount of people, but it wasn't overly crowded.  I went down my favorite run a few times, which is the Upper Road Runner.  The run begins at the summit, winds along the side of the mountain, and ends at the main lodge where the base of the mountain is.  The snow came earlier in the day than expected, and by 2:30 PM, it was a full on powder day.  It had been a while since I snowboarded in conditions like this, and I was having a blast.  It was super cool that the snow arrived early, but it was also important to be careful with timing.  I needed to be back on my way before the roads became too snowy.  I was able to get about five hours of boarding in all together.  On the way out of town, I stopped in the village to buy a couple of souvenirs.  Aidan has a whole collection of stuffed animals, and a Wholly Mammoth one was a perfect addition.

On the return trip, I made it about halfway from Mammoth Lakes to Bishop before I needed to pull over and nap again.  This time I stopped in a turnout off the freeway where motorists could stop and admire views of Mount Morrison.  I slept a little deeper this time, and woke up after an hour and a half in a bit of a daze.  When I arrived in Lone Pine, I stopped for some dinner at Mount Whitney Restaurant, which was always a big hit with me and my hiking buddies after a trip to the Eastern Sierras.  The remainder of the drive was long and tiring, but I finally made it back home around 11:30 PM.  

So, yes, I did Mammoth in one day from Southern Orange County.  Was it exhausting? Yes.  But was it worth it? Hell yes! A lot of people would probably disagree and think I'm nuts, but I enjoyed every bit of that trip.  It's just the way my mind works.  I guess that's what nine years of running ultramarathons will do to a guy's outlook.  Ultrarunners experience a lot in one day when they race.  A fifty-mile race typically takes runners anywhere between ten and sixteen hours to complete.  Not only is that a pretty long distance to cover on foot in a single day, but every emotion imaginable is often felt along the way.  It's like living an entire lifetime in one day.  A lot happens.  This experience is part of what keeps most ultrarunners coming back for more, including myself.  We like packing as much into a single day as we can.  We like living multiple days of life in one day.  It gives us a thrill.  This same logic applies to other areas of my life, such as day trips to Mammoth, and single day work trips up to the Bay Area.  To me, spending eleven hours in the car enjoying the California scenery, snowboarding for five hours, napping in the car, eating at restaurants in small towns, and having time to just unwind was an awesome adventure.  And my favorite part is I can do it all in one day, then come home and be with Samantha and Aidan.  It makes my heart feel full.  Same thing with work travel.  I love waking up in the wee hours of the morning, catching a flight to San Jose, being with my team for a day, then flying back home that night so I can be with my family.  Don't get me wrong, I would also be into the occasional overnight trip so I can be less exhausted, but if I can have a single day adventure, that's my preference.  It's the best way I can make as much time for everything as I can.  Does that make me nuts? Maybe a little bit.  But that's the way I like it!

The 2024 Kodiak 100-miler and A DNF Deep Dive

When I paced my friend Jose at the Kodiak 100-mile ultramarathon in October 2023, it was a fun and fulfilling experience.  I got to take a nice long road trip to Big Bear Lake, hang out with my friends in the mountains, help someone achieve their goal of completing their first 100-miler, and have my own ultramarathon experience by traversing thirty-three miles through the wilderness.  Another exciting part of the experience was Angelica, a member of Jose's support crew, told me she was signing up for Kodiak in 2024 as her first 100-miler, and wanted me to pace her.  It seemed like an exciting opportunity and I said yes right away.  We kept in touch, and by the time the 2024 Kodiak 100-miler rolled around, Samantha, Aidan, and I had moved to Laguna Niguel about a month prior.  I had been talking a lot with Angelica earlier that week about the upcoming adventure.  I met her crew members, and we talked a lot about where we would meet up, what time we would get together at the aid stations, and what we would have ready for Angelica in terms of food and supplies.  You know, all the fun stuff that comes with helping someone get through their first 100-miler.

I was awake at 3:00 AM on Saturday morning, October 12th 2024, staring into my bathroom mirror, half asleep, preparing to head out to Big Bear Lake.  By 3:45 AM, I was out the door with a backpack on my shoulder, running shoes in one hand, and a steaming hot cup of coffee in the other.  Big Bear Lake was still a two-and-a-half hour drive away, but it was much shorter than the seven hours I drove last year from Sunnyvale.  Angelica's journey had started at 1:00 PM the day before, and her crew members, Carmen, Nancy, and Randy had arrived with her in Big Bear that day.  The plan was for me to meet up with them at the Doble Camp aid station at mile sixty-five.  Angelica was projected to arrive there at around 7:30 AM, but with 100-milers, you never know.  Things can change quickly.  I was hoping to get there well in advance of when she arrived so I would have some time to lounge around.  As I drove along the dark highway, I was refreshing the tracker on my phone to check her progress.  It indicated that she had been at the aid station at mile forty-five for several hours, which was a little concerning, but I kept driving, hoping she was hanging in there okay.  I had just started driving up the winding road into the mountains when a text from the group chat with her crew popped up on my phone.  Carmen had confirmed that Angelica dropped out at mile forty-five.  Apparently, she had been having stomach issues throughout the night and couldn't consume any food without feeling overwhelmingly nauseous.  This happens sometimes during ultramarathons.  When our bodies are in motion for extended periods of time, and our system is overworked, all of our energy goes into keeping us moving, even energy that is normally used to digest food.  If runners in this state eat a certain food that doesn't agree with them or their eating patterns go astray, this could result in an upset stomach and low energy levels from lack of fuel.  Then on top of that, the Kodiak 100-miler course is at an average elevation of 8,000 feet.  Elevation sickness has also been known to cause nausea in addition to headaches.  In Angelica's case, she had left the aid station at mile forty-five, thrown up on the trail twice, and made the decision to backtrack two miles to the aid station, where she spent some time in the medic tent, and later dropped out.  

It was a bummer and I really felt bad for her.  She had been training for this race all year and she was really hoping to go home with a finisher's belt buckle.  The crew and I were exchanging texts with her and offering words of encouragement.  I wouldn't be able to work my pacer magic today, but I was looking forward to getting up to the mountains to see the gang and hopefully help Angelica feel better about the situation.  Once I arrived, the whole team, Angelica, Randy, Nancy, Carmen and I, went to Grizzly Manor and satisfied our appetites with pancakes the size of dinner plates, something Grizzly Manor is widely known for.  After breakfast we hung around the condo that Angelica rented for the weekend and had a good conversation.  We let Angelica voice her frustration and disappointment, offered her encouragement, and congratulated her on her effort.  She had been been awake for over thirty hours and had ran through the night, so when she was ready to take a mid-morning nap, I bade the team farewell, and headed back home.

In retrospect, I think Angelica made the right move when she decided to hike the two miles back to the medic tent.  Considering it was her first 100-mile attempt, and given how awful she was feeling, the alternative could have been much worse if she chose to keep going.  Sometimes we just have to listen to our bodies.  As time went on, Angelica came to terms with her DNF and developed a more positive sentiment towards what happened that day.  This was good news, but one of the reasons why I felt so badly for her was because I too had been through two similar situations this year with The Canyons 100K and the Cool Moon 50-miler.  I know how much it stings.  DNF stands for Did Not Finish.  No runner ever wants to see those letters next to their name in the race results.  Between my two DNFs and my involvement with Angelica's DNF, 2024 was seemingly becoming the year of DNFs in my reality.  That's not entirely negative though.  Of course it sucks to not finish a race, but there is a silver lining to DNFing an ultramarathon.  It can provide some valuable learning opportunities.  Just like every other type of failure in life, most people go through a whole grieving process when they don't finish an ultramarathon.  Here are the phases, as I see them.

The first phase is the disappointment and "woulda, coulda, shoulda" phase.  This is when the runner is disappointed in themselves or the situation, and they're asking themselves "what would have happened if I had done this or that differently?" or they're saying to themselves "I could have kept going" or "I should have done this or that" or "I should have kept going".  The next phase is typically the "I did what I could, and I'm okay with what happened" phase.  This comes after the runner releases their frustration and disappointment and is coming to terms with the situation and making peace with it.  It doesn't make sense for us to needlessly beat ourselves up for not being able to finish a race that seems unfathomable to most people.  At some point, we have to accept the outcome, understand that things happen for a reason, and try to understand what went wrong and what we learned from the mishap.  The last phase is the "okay, I'm ready to get out there and try again" phase.  Pretty self explanatory.  At this point, the runner has made peace with the DNF, hopefully learned some valuable lessons, and is ready to give it another go.  All three of the DNF grieving phases are equally important.  In my opinion, it's good to release frustration and disappointment when I DNF a race, or fail at anything in life, for that matter.  Keeping those feelings bottled up is unhealthy.  If that negative energy isn't properly released, it lingers for longer periods of time and delays us from moving on to the acceptance and let's try again phases.  It's also important to learn from our mistakes, and not give up on our goals.  2024 may have been the year of DNFs for me, but I'm thankful for what I've gone through.  Everyone grieves over these kinds of things differently, but this is the way I feel is best to do it.  Onward and upward into 2025, and let's see what kind of adventures it brings!

The "Moving to Laguna Niguel" Ultramarathon

A couple of weeks ago I shared a picture on social media of the view from our new home.  Samantha, Aidan, and I recently moved from Sunnyvale to Laguna Niguel, a city in southern Orange County not too far from the beach.  In addition to being a charming, suburban city with cool people and lots of places to eat, Laguna Niguel is topographically composed of several hills and canyons, which add to the beautiful ambiance.  We live right at the top of one of these hills, which offers stunning views of the neighborhood from the edge of our group of townhouses.  One of our friends from the Bay Area commented on the photo asking how the move went.  I'll get into the story of how it went in a minute, but I replied that it went pretty smoothly.  Little did I know that in the upcoming week, that simple reply would spark a light hearted Facebook debate between me, Samantha, and our friend about what it truly means to have a move go "smoothly".

Before I get into the move, let's take a step back.  This move has been talked about and was in the works for quite some time.  Even though Samantha and I met in Mountain View, both of us knew that we didn't want to make Silicon Valley our permanent home.  When she became pregnant with our son, Aidan, those feelings became more pronounced.  Living in Sunnyvale had served its purpose in both of our lives, and we were ready for something more long term.  Now that we had a kid on the way, we had a strong desire to move somewhere more quiet, more suburban, and more family oriented.  Samantha spent some of her childhood in Los Angeles, but mostly grew up in Irvine.  Her parents still live in the area, and I love Southern California, so Orange County seemed like a natural choice in terms of where to move.  We originally intended to move in May of 2023, but as the months carried on, it became apparent that we weren't ready to move just yet.  After a few lengthy discussions, we decided to renew our lease in Sunnyvale until September of 2024 so we had more time to coordinate the move.  Samantha and I did some searching with my in laws, and with their help, we found a charming, two story townhouse in a quiet neighborhood of Laguna Niguel.  Once we had our new living situation nailed down, we had a couple of months to enjoy Silicon Valley before the move.  There would be a lot of things that we would miss about the Bay Area, but we knew this move was right for us.  

As the summer carried on, moving week was approaching quickly.  In early August, Samantha and I were discussing the move and how we wanted to go about it.  We had some options, and we narrowed it down to two potential plans.  The first one was to hire movers to load up our belongings, drive them down to Laguna Niguel, and unpack them at our new house.  The second option was to rent a U-Haul truck, load it up on our own, drive it down to Orange County, and unload it ourselves.  Sure, the first option would have been convenient, but anyone who knows me well is probably not all that surprised that I was pushing for the second option.  Why you might ask?  Well, hiring movers is pretty expensive, but the price wasn't a total deal breaker.  In most cases, you get what you pay for, but I wondered if we could save money by executing this move in a more do-it-yourself fashion.  Another thing that was pulling me in that direction was my ultrarunner mindset.  I'm used to long periods of endurance.  I know what it's like to struggle in the moment, mentally and physically, and experience the satisfaction and reward of putting my body and mind through hell.  I thoroughly contemplated the two options, and after crunching the numbers, option two was a no brainer from a cost perspective.  Yes, it would be more work, and I would be physically exhausted.  But I like saving money, and I like challenges.  Samantha was skeptical of my plan.  "How are we going to get the U-Haul truck loaded up? she asked. "I'll load it up on my own".  I replied.  "I think the best plan is for you and Aidan to drive down to Orange County a day early so I can get the truck loaded up without any distractions.  Then I'll drive the truck down on my own, and I'll meet you guys at the townhouse on Tuesday".  "How are you going to load up all our stuff by yourself, then drive the truck all the way down there on your own? That's crazy".  It was a valid question and her concerns were justified.  I had never moved with a two-year-old before, so I was navigating this for the first time the best way I knew how.  I just stood up beside her, put my arm around her shoulder, looked at her with a big smile, and said "did you forget you're married to an ultrarunner?"  She knew what that meant.  

After some convincing and assuring Samantha that I had this in the bag, she reluctantly agreed to the plan.  But the truth was I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing.  Sure, I had moved a few times, but I had never moved four-hundred miles with a toddler before.  This was going to be a new experience, just like all of the times when I ran a new distance in ultrarunning for the first time.  I didn't quite know what to expect, or how it was going to go, but I was up for the challenge.  Some people might ask the question of why I insisted on loading up the moving truck and driving down to Orange County on my own as opposed to having some friends help me.  There's a logical explanation for that.  My take on these types of situations is I love teamwork and collaboration.  But if I'm in charge of the project, I feel much more comfortable working with a team if it's a project that I know well and have done before.  If I know all the steps and I can tell people exactly what I need done and when I need it done, and they can rely on me to give good, solid guidance, then I'm one-hundred percent onboard.  But if it's something I've never done before and I don't really know what I'm getting myself into, and there's a lot that can go wrong, that creates a sense of uncertainty.  And when there's uncertainty, I'm reluctant to get other people involved, and I would rather just do the job on my own, even if it's a lot of work.  I don't want to let other people down or waste their time if things go wrong.  Something can probably be done about that, but that was my mindset.

Before we knew it, moving day was upon us.  By this point, we had several boxes packed up, and we had "dejunkified" our apartment quite a bit, including ditching some old furniture.  My Sunday morning started off at the U-Haul center in Mountain View to pick up the truck.  Judging by the dimensions, I thought a twenty foot long by eleven foot tall truck would be suitable for our belongings.  It wasn't until I hopped into the driver's seat that I realized how different driving a twenty foot long U-Haul truck would be compared to my Rav4.  I drove painfully slowly out of the parking lot and down the highway back to our apartment, trying to be careful.  Every turn needed to be executed widely and I needed to take a couple of extra seconds looking in the side mirrors when changing lanes.  When I arrived home with the truck, Samantha was packing up everything her and Aidan would need for the next couple of days.  The plan was for the two of them to drive down and stay at a hotel in Laguna Hills, not far from our new place for the next couple of nights while I loaded up the truck and drove down to Orange County.  Once they were all packed up, they hit the road, and it was time to start moving stuff.  There are a lot of things I liked about our apartment building, but moving out of there was tough.  Our unit was located at the very end of the hallway, as far away from the elevator as it could possibly get.  Additionally, there was a secure door that I had to go through in the lobby of the leasing office, and the truck couldn't be parked right outside by the door because it was too big to pull into the parking garage.  I spent the next ten hours loading our belongings up on to a dolly, making numerous trips down the hall, down the elevator, out the lobby door, and to the moving truck.  I drank lots of water, took a lunch break, and ate lots of snacks to keep myself moving.  By 11:00 PM, I called it quits for the day.  I was about halfway done loading up our stuff, but I began to worry about what could potentially go wrong from a logistical standpoint.  I was concerned about leaving the moving truck in the parking area outside overnight, mainly because the staff at our building told me that I'd be violating their policies by leaving it there.  Additionally, I worried if the truck had enough space to move all our stuff.  It seemed like space was getting tight in there, and I thought about how much of a disaster it would be if the truck were towed or if I had to unload everything, return the truck, and get a bigger one.  Samantha and Aidan made it down to Laguna Hills safely, but it was a long and treacherous rally to get there.  Aidan is normally a great traveler, but it's a different ball game when only one of us is in the car with him.  Samantha had to stop a couple of times to let him unwind and be out of the car, which normally would be fine, except it was over one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit outside.  At one point, she was driving down a remote stretch of the 5 freeway through Kern County when she spotted a California Highway Patrol vehicle on the shoulder.  She pumped the breaks, but it was too late.  He pulled her over and wrote her a speeding ticket while Aidan cried his little butt off.  Not fun.

Even though it was a tough, eight hour drive, I was glad they arrived safely.  Apparently Aidan fell asleep right after Samantha received her lovely present from the California Highway Patrol, and slept for next three hours until they arrived at the hotel.  Shortly after I spoke with her on the phone, I decided to move the truck to a parking area outside the leasing office and out of the fire lane.  Once I went back upstairs, I threw together a quick dinner with some random food we still had in our freezer.  Our bed was already in pieces in the truck, so I plopped down onto our two-person love seat and laid down to get some sleep.  The first thing I did when I woke up at 6 AM the next morning was I went downstairs to check on the truck.  I was relieved to see that it was still right where I left it.  As the day went on, and as the truck became more full and our apartment became more empty, my anxiety gradually decreased.  I realized that everything was going to fit into the truck just fine as long as I packed it properly.  As I was getting towards the end of packing, the realization that we were leaving began to hit me.  I thought about the last five-and-a-half years that I spent living in the Bay Area and how much had happened since then.  It was a different era than it was five years ago.  Things had certainly come a long way.  I would always cherish the years I spent living in Sunnyvale and the good things that came with them.  The fact that I was saying goodbye and starting a new chapter felt like a wall of emotion, but it was mostly happy thoughts.  By 10:00 PM on Monday night, the truck was loaded up, the apartment was cleaned out, the keys were left on the kitchen counter, and I was ready to go.  I was feeling confident that the move was going according to plan, but I still had one more big hurdle to clear:  Getting the truck full of our belongings down to Laguna Niguel.  It was going to be a long haul.  A straight drive without stops and no traffic is a little over six hours, but there was no way I was going to make it down there that quickly.  It was late at night, and I was going to need to stop and sleep for a least a few hours.  Late at night in the dark is when things usually start to get interesting during ultramarathons.  The same could definitely be said for driving from Silicon Valley to Orange County.

As I drove down highway 101 I felt a strange combination of emotions.  I felt at ease because the truck was all loaded up, we were out of our apartment, and I was on my way down to our new home.  But I also felt anxious because I was driving a massive moving truck that contained virtually everything that me, Samantha, and Aidan owned.  One careless move, and that could all be gone in an instant.  Not only that, but one wrong move could also total another car on the road if I didn't see them in the mirror when I changed lanes.  There was no rearview mirror, so I relied solely on the large outside mirrors to see other cars on the road behind me.  I wasn't used to driving such as massive vehicle on the highway and I found it to be a little intimidating.  There was a lot that could go wrong.  I tried to just relax, not think too much about it, and enjoy the drive.  When making the drive from Silicon Valley to Orange County, the route that I travel is along highway 101 to highway 152, which crosses over Panoche Pass, and deposits me onto the 5 freeway.  I've made the drive so many times, it's almost like second nature at this point.  The first town that appears along the route on highway 5 is the town of Panoche.  When I arrived there, it was just past midnight, so it seemed like a good opportunity to pull over and get some rest.  As I exited the freeway, I piloted the U-Haul down a remote backstreet past some fast food restaurants and gas stations, and parked on the roadside.  Outside, there were gas stations on either side of the street from me and one in front of me.  Beyond the gas station parking lots were darkness and miles of open fields and farmland.  Over the last several hours, I had been fueled by trail mix and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, so I was pretty hungry.  All the restaurants were closed for the night, so I headed into the gas station and bought a couple of Lunchable packages.  They weren't hot meals, but salami, cheese, and crackers were better than more trail mix and PB&J.  

I managed to get about three-and-a-half hours of sleep in the driver's seat of the truck.  When I woke up, my back felt stiff, but I felt slightly more coherent.  By this time, it was around 4:00 AM on Tuesday morning.  When I stepped out of the truck to stretch, the area was dead quiet, except for the occasional semi truck pulling into a nearby parking lot.  Even though the establishment was dimly lit, I could see that the gas station I visited earlier was still open, so I headed back in to use the restroom.  I exited with a piping hot cup of coffee, and felt ready to hit the road once again.  I was almost certain that I would hit the morning commute traffic in the Los Angeles area, so I figured I'd better get moving.  The road was pretty empty as I continued making my way south on the 5 freeway.  As time went on, and the coffee kicked in, I felt more comfortable driving the truck, and at times it felt like driving a car.  Within a couple of hours, the early dawn began lighting up the eastern skyline, and the morning was upon me.  It reminded me a lot of running through the night, then watching the sun come up in the morning after hours of darkness.  There was something very powerful and exciting about the arrival of a new day, and I felt a sense of optimism and renewed energy.  I was cruising along pleasantly and enjoying the ride, until I hit some traffic going through the Grapevine, a long stretch of freeway that passes through the mountains and connects the Central Valley to the Los Angeles area.  I was happy that I was only within a couple of hours of Laguna Niguel, but as the traffic cleared near Six Flags, I began feeling drowsy again.  Not wanting to take any chances, I decided to pull over again for another nap.  After about an hour of snoozing in the driver's seat and another coffee purchase, I was back on the road again at around 9:00 AM making my way through highway traffic in the San Fernando Valley.  This trip was starting to feel quite grueling.  Eleven hours had passed since I left Sunnyvale the night before, and I was now in the final stretch of the journey.  I was about seventy miles from my destination, but it seemed to be taking forever.  I guess it wouldn't be Los Angeles if there wasn't a shit load of traffic as far as the eye could see.  I love LA and I tolerated the traffic when I lived there, but at this particular moment it was driving me bananas.  I guess that's what will happen after eleven hours on the road with only a few hours sleep in a moving truck.

When I finally pulled into our townhouse complex in Laguna Niguel shortly after 11:00 AM, I clapped my hands in celebration.  Even though I hadn't done any running, and the only steps I took over the last thirteen hours were to and from gas station convenience stores, I felt like I had just crossed the finish line of an ultramarathon.  I was hungry, sleep deprived, and dirty, but it felt like a big accomplishment. I wanted to celebrate the fact that I had made it through this trek in one piece.  That celebration was just me in the cab of the truck alone clapping my hands and saying "holy shit, I made it", but that was all I needed.  It felt like a nice way to make up for those two ultramarathons that I DNF'ed earlier this year.  Even though I insisted on loading the truck up myself, I welcomed the help when my father in law and Samantha offered to help unload the truck.  With their help, we unloaded our belongings faster than I thought we would, and returned the truck that night.  It had been an incredibly eventful and productive couple of days of moving, but I don't even remember going to sleep that night.  I think I passed out within thirty seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

Now that we've been here for a little over three weeks, and we're pretty well settled in, I've had time to reflect on the move and write this blog post.  Did this move actually go smoothly?  I guess the answer depends on people's interpretation of the story.  Even though Samantha and Aidan arrived safely, she felt horribly for most of the day on Monday due to dehydration and heat exhaustion.  Orange County was experiencing a crazy heat wave that week, and it took some time for Samantha to feel better.  But I was glad we all made it safely, there were no vehicle breakdowns, no car accidents, etc.  It was definitely the most memorable move I've had yet.  I wish I could have been there for Samantha when she was struggling, but she pulled through.  We're planning to stay in southern Orange County long term as Aidan grows up and makes his way through school.  When we move again, it will likely only be within a few miles of where we are now.  But we have a good set up here, so we're not planning to move for a while, which is a pleasant thought.  I'm just excited to be here and continue this next chapter of our lives, so let's see what's next!