Ragnar Los Coyotes

For as long as I’ve been running I have always appreciated the excitement of racing as a team and the amount of reliance and team work that is involved.  The Ragnar Trail Los Coyotes race is a beautiful challenge.  If your ideal weekend consists of getting together with seven of your friends or family members, camping, running on trails around the clock, exploring, and not getting much sleep, it doesn’t get any better than this.  Traditionally, Ragnar has only hosted road relay races but since unveiling the trail series in 2013, it has grown to sixteen relay trail races across the United States including one in Ontario, Canada.  California is home to two of these races; Ragnar Trail Tahoe at the Royal Gorge Cross Country Ski Resort near Soda Springs, California, and Ragnar Trail Los Coyotes on the Los Coyotes Indian Reservation near Warner Springs. 

      

The previous summer, Janet and I teamed up with some of our friends and participated in the Ragnar Tahoe race and enjoyed it immensely.  So, when my friend Denis invited us to join a team he was putting together for Ragnar Los Coyotes, we jumped at the opportunity and at 7:00 AM on a chilly Friday morning in November 2017, I found myself standing in line to watch the Ragnar Safety video on the Los Coyotes Indian Reservation near Southern California’s Cleveland National Forest.  The short video which outlines safety rules and tips for trail running is required to be watched by all participants prior to the race.  Accompanying me was my wife, Janet, and our friends Tony, Denis, Yesenia, Monica, Anthony, and another Janet, who we’ll call Janet H to avoid confusion.  Janet H’s fiancé, Zach, an active member of the Marine Corps, had also joined in on the trip to be our volunteer, as it is required that each team has an extra person to volunteer for one shift during the race.  Our team was scheduled to begin running at 7:40 AM so after taking some team pictures, Yesenia, our first runner headed to the start line while the rest of us walked back to our camp site to set everything up.  Each team consists of eight people and there are three trails; a green one which is just over three miles in length and the easiest, a yellow one which is also just over three miles in length and slightly more challenging, and a red, which is by far the most challenging both in distance and terrain, measuring just under eight miles.  Each team member runs all three of the trails once for a total of twenty-four legs.  The running order is chosen before the race and is followed consistently around the clock.  All three of the trails begin and end at what is called the Ragnar Village which includes bonfires, food trucks, company booths, gift shops, and entertainment.  Our campsite was about a quarter of a mile away from the village along the trail where runners would be passing by day and night.  We were much more prepared for this race than we were for Tahoe.  The year prior, we hadn’t thought to bring a canopy for shade, a camping stove to heat up food, or an air mattress to sleep on comfortably.  We took mental note and brought everything we needed this time around.  Once we had our tents and canopy set up, we heated up breakfast burritos with our camping stove and cheered on runners as they ran past.  Yesenia is a quick runner and was closing in on the green loop, so Tony, our second runner prepared to head to the transition area to meet her.  Tony is an endurance sport animal who had participated in the Chicago Marathon, The Elk 50K in Oregon, hiked Cactus to Clouds, and completed a Tough Mudder in the four weeks leading up to Los Coyotes.  Moments after he departed the campsite, we saw him running down the trail heading out on the yellow loop.  Tony arrived back at camp a short time later and Monica, our third runner headed out to tackle the red loop.  With 1,750 feet of elevation gain and measuring nearly eight miles long, it was the toughest loop on the course, so we expected that it would take Monica around two hours to complete this section.  Almost exactly two hours later, we received the notification that she was a quarter of a mile away from the finish, as our fourth runner, Janet H, anxiously waited to begin her first leg of the journey.  Upon arrival, Monica had told us that she encountered a man on the trail around the three-mile mark who had twisted his angle after stumbling on a rock.  It was a desperate moment and he felt helpless, so Monica followed a great example of what a true runner should do in such circumstances.  She peeled him up off the trail side and paced him for the rest of the loop.  When he wanted to quit she encouraged him to keep moving forward and reminded him that yes, he could do it, and that his team was awaiting his arrival.  Although the pain was intense, he made it the whole way and they crossed the finish line side by side.  Janet H took off upon Monica’s arrival and finished her loop a short while later.  When we asked her how it went she said it was great except her ribs were hurting.  We found out that just nineteen months ago she was hiking on a snowy trail in the San Bernardino Mountains up to Cucamonga Peak when she lost control of her footing and fell six hundred feet down the side of a mountain.  She was airlifted to a nearby hospital where she spent the next week and a half recovering, and it required tremendous amounts of hard work and physical therapy to get back to where she was now, which was still not completely one hundred percent.  I was shocked but delighted to hear that she was out here hammering tough miles on rugged trails a mere nineteen months after she had nearly died.   Anthony went next.  A long-time friend of ours, he has accompanied Janet and I on many adventures and races over the years.  Although he is built more like a line backer than a runner, he displayed pure grit and determination, and always raced at a consistent pace with a strong finish.  This time was no different, and he tore up the trail, finishing with flying colors.  Denis headed out next, our team captain.  Denis was an accomplished racer in his own right, having participated in several Spartan races, marathons, and numerous challenging hikes.  He ran at an impressive, steady pace and when he arrived back at the transition area, Janet, my wife was up next.  Although she runs on flat surfaces somewhat regularly, she hadn’t done much hill training and I knew that the hills on the trails would slow her down a bit.  I was the last runner so after she finished, it would be my turn.  I changed into my running gear in our tent and prepared to head to the transition area, but upon exiting my tent, the rest of the team informed me that Janet had passed by a few minutes prior.  I quickly made my way to the transition area, surprised and proud of her for finishing so quickly.  Upon arrival, I began my first leg, which was the yellow, moderately difficult loop.  The course climbed up a narrow fire road for the first mile, then dropped down onto a single-track trail that zig zagged through the woods and eventually deposited me back onto another fire road that led back to the village.  When I returned, Yesenia was waiting for me and began her second leg of the journey.  We were now one third of the way done and had gone through our entire line up.  After having dinner and wandering around the village, Janet and I decided to get some sleep for the night shift.  She was scheduled to run the red loop beginning around midnight and I didn’t want her to be out there all alone in the dark, so, following Monica’s advice, I joined her for this leg of the trail.  Shortly after leaving the village, the course climbed a wicked one-thousand-foot ascent on a grated fire road.  To conserve our energy, we hiked up the incline to the crest of the hill, which proceeded down a narrow single-track trail into the midnight wilderness.  With our headlamps lighting the way, we followed the winding path through the woods and up a gradual incline through a meadow.  It was a beautiful night in the mountains.  The moon was partially hidden by thin, dotted clouds, and millions of stars filled the sky brightly.  Other than the sound of our feet tramping on the ground, it was complete silence.  We proceeded through the meadow and out to the peak before continuing onto another fire road that descended for the next couple of miles.  As we made our way down, we had a nice cadence going and Janet was making great time.  We eventually arrived at a junction where the fire road crossed a paved road where there was a water refill station.  The course continued onto another dirt road and began a tough incline similar to the one at the beginning of the course.  About half way up this climb, Janet stopped dead in her tracks.  She looked at me like a deer in headlights and said, “It’s times like this when I wonder why I signed up for this”.  There we were, out on a desolate fire road in the middle of the night in the mountains.  We only had a mile and a half left but the village might as well have been on another planet.  It seemed as though the incline would never end.  What were we doing out here?  But Janet had been here before.  She had been pushed to complete exhaustion, but she knew what to do.  She took a sip of water, a deep breath, and plowed forward up the incline.  Eventually the path flattened out and the lights of the village came into view.  We finished a short time later and I was so proud of her!  She had almost no hill training and just gutted out eight miles on one of the hardest courses in the entire Ragnar Trail Series in the middle of the night.  I gave her a big hug and congratulated her.  After we crossed the finish line together, Janet departed back to the campsite and I took off to run my leg of the green trail.  She later told me she was so hungry that while I ran the green loop, she woofed down two Hershey bars, a handful of Doritos, and two breakfast burritos at our campsite before passing out in our tent.  As I approached the village towards the end of the loop, it was nearing 3:00 AM.  A string of headlamps come down the path in the opposite direction as other runners made their way out to the course.  I shouted words of encouragement as I passed them, and made my way to the finish.  After finishing my second loop, I refilled my cup full of coffee, bundled up, and sat under our canopy watching lit up runners glide by.  I decided around 4:00 AM to try to get some sleep.  I entered our tent and snuggled up next to Janet on the air mattress, not removing my jacket, socks, or long pants.  Even with all these layers and a blanket on, I struggled to stay warm in the forty-degree weather.  I was able to sleep for a couple of hours and when I woke up, we had some breakfast and cheered on runners.  By this time, Janet H was on her final leg of the race and we estimated that our team would be finished around 1:30 PM.  We lounged around camp and shared stories until it was time for my wife, Janet to begin her final leg.  This meant that when she was finished, it was my turn to run the red loop and then we’d be done.  She tore through the yellow loop in fifty minutes and when she arrived at the transition area, I took the bib from her and began the final leg of the race.  I knew it would be difficult since I had been out there the night before, but I was thankful that I knew what to expect.  I took it easy, running slowly up the incline to the ridge where the trail continued down the single-track trail.  The scenery was beautiful as the path wove through trees and forest and rolled over small hills in between boulders.  As I ran, I thought about all the stories I had heard in the last day.  I thought about how hard Denis had worked putting the team together and coordinating the race, how many races Tony had done in the past month, about Janet H was running not even two years after a horrible accident, her fiancé Zach volunteering for us, Monica helping the injured man, Anthony and Yesenia toughing out the difficult terrain without much hill training, and my wife for hammering through the red loop the previous night even though she was having such a tough go at it.  I thought about how unique and awesome our team was, how everyone had their own stories and experiences, and how much of a true team effort this race really was.  I thought about what an adventure it had been over the last twenty-eight hours and how close we were to being done.  I was only four miles away from our team finish.  And just like that, I went into go mode.  I hammered down the fire road, passing runner after runner, proceeded past the road crossing, and ran up the incline when the village came into view once again.  The last quarter of a mile was ran with lots of excitement.  I as I approached the finish line, I searched for the rest of the team.  The tradition for Ragnar is that the whole team joins the last runner during the last hundred feet or so of the course so that everyone can cross the finish line together as a team.  Unfortunately, no one was to be found and I looked at my watch realizing that miraculously, I had finished about twenty minutes before my projected finish time.  Eventually, they emerged from the village and we all joined hands and crossed the finish line together, finishing right around our estimated time of 1:30 PM.  After a round of high fives, hoots and hollers, we collected our medals, took team pictures, packed up our campsite, and hit the road.  We rendezvoused on the way home at a Mexican restaurant for lunch in Temecula where we exchanged more stories about the race and congratulated each other.

When Janet and I finally arrived home, we cleaned ourselves up and went to bed immediately afterwards since we could barely keep our eyes open.  I reminisced on how great of an adventure it had been and how much I loved these types of team races and the bonds and friendships that come as a result of achieving such an accomplishment.  I lied down and fell asleep within seconds, my final thoughts being how proud I was of everyone on our team and how I couldn’t wait to do it again.   

Why Getting Older Is Not Such A Bad Thing

For most people, when a milestone birthday begins approaching, they begin thinking a lot.  This is particularly true when approaching a new decade such as thirty, forty, or fifty.  People start thinking “Am I where I want to be in my life? Are things going to change? Oh man, I can’t believe I’m going to be thirty!  Where has the time gone?”  There are many different sentiments that people have about aging.  Some people embrace it, and others will say, often in a joking manner, that getting older is not such a great thing.  As my thirtieth birthday approached, there was no shortage of people teasing me with the typical “dirty thirty” and “it’s all downhill from here” banter.  But as I write this, I am seventeen months into my thirties and for me, my thirties so far have been nothing short of amazing.  When I say “amazing” I don’t mean that things have been perfect. In fact, far from it.  Since I’ve hit thirty, there have been incredible highs as well as devastating lows.  I’ve learned to embrace and celebrate the highs and keep my head up and plow through the lows.  It hasn’t always been easy, but attitude is everything.  Your whole life is in your hands and it is what you make it.

As I reflect on how far I’ve come since turning thirty, I now see that with each decade of my life thus far, there have been major changes, even as far back as when I was ten.  When I was ten and eleven years old, I began focusing more in school and being more social.  I wasn’t a straight A student, but I achieved better grades, made more friends, and turned the tables with a lot of schoolmates I had problems with simply by changing my attitude.  When I was nineteen years old, I was a student at Western Michigan University.  One day in November, I was done with classes for the day and was preparing to go to work at my part time job which I worked three nights a week at a local restaurant.  As I was about to leave, I heard a knock on my apartment door.  When I opened it, I saw my dad standing there.  He hadn’t called and said he was going to make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to come see me, so I could tell right away that something was amiss.  “Hey Dad” I said confusingly.  “What’s going on?”.  He didn’t answer. “Dad?”  after a good ten seconds, he finally embraced me with tears in his eyes and told me that my mom had passed away earlier that day.  I simply couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  I was in so much shock, I could barely articulate a response to what he said.  It didn’t seem real.  I had to have been dreaming.  But it was, unfortunately, very real and all I could do was deal with it as best as I could.  After the initial shock wore off, and I went through the grieving process, things got weird.  Even though I had been away at college, a life without my mom around was a bizarre and sad feeling.  I was in a haze for the next several months and although I continued to live a typical college life of partying and good times, I sometimes felt very hollow. Even with the comfort of my friends, my life seemed dreamlike and I found it difficult to focus on anything.  I thought about my mom every single day.  But then my twentieth birthday approached.  School was about to let out for the year, and soon I would be heading back to my hometown, working a full-time summer job, spending time with old friends and family, and taking a break from school.  By this time, I had a chance to reflect on what happened and the haziness of my life subsided.  At one point, I think it was on a random Saturday night after a party, things became crystal clear and I had a decision to make; I could either dive face first into a life of drugs, alcohol, and despair to cope with the pain or I could not let this beat me down and I could rise above the pain and put that energy into being happy, having fun, and improving myself.  It was a crucial moment.  The last five months had been weird and the blow to my family was devastating, leaving a black hole in my life.  But was I alive?  Was I healthy?  Did I have a lot to be thankful for even though my mom was gone?  The answer to all three of those questions was “Yes”.  Would my mom want me to spiral down a path of self-destruction? Did I really want to throw away everything I had in my life at that point, including a great family, great friends, and a college education?  “No” on both accounts.  It was as if I had awakened from the five-month dream I was living in, and the choice was clear; Time to start improving things.  I subconsciously began a transformation including taking less for granted, treating people better, being truer to who I am, not letting things bother me too much, and getting into better physical shape.  The most challenging part of the transformation was the physical part.  I had a busy schedule and didn’t always prioritize exercise.  I stood around six feet tall and weighed one hundred and eighty-five pounds.  I wasn’t obese, but clearly not in great shape.  I began running at twenty-two in December of 2008 and soon dropped to one hundred and fifty-five pounds.  I felt better than I ever had before and when I reached twenty-nine, I looked back at how much I had changed during my twenties.  I had earned a college degree, lost thirty pounds, suffered a tragic loss, rebuilt myself, moved to Chicago and Los Angeles, became more carefree, had lots of friends, and discovered my passion for running. 

   

When my thirtieth birthday rolled around, I didn’t experience any kind of weird feelings about getting older or a milestone birthday.  Instead I thought to myself “what’s going to be instore for me in the next decade?”  And man, has a lot happened since then.  I’ve since dealt with the tragic loss of our dog, gotten married, improved myself professionally, cleaned up my diet, and continued to push my limits in running.  When I was thirty I ran my first ultra-marathon; the Bulldog 50K, I attempted a 100K race in Foresthill, was handed my first DNF, learned from my mistakes, and began running longer distances on more challenging mountain trails.  Over the three years I worked at BlackLine, we had quadruped in size, gone through a full IPO, and filed our first 10-K.  I learned a ton, and found a better job that has allowed me to learn even more.  I’ve learned how to be a good husband (still learning), and began eating healthier.  I have since incorporated more fruit and vegetables into my diet, placing less emphasis on meat, and even eating at vegan restaurants for the first time and going vegetarian one or two days a week.  My morning breakfast now consists of a piece of peanut butter toast, an apple, and a cup of Greek yogurt.  I’ve been drinking lemon water, eating avocados, and, thanks to the juicer my wife and I purchased a few weeks ago, been drinking homemade juice.  I’m one month shy of thirty-one and a half now and I still have eight and a half years left in this decade.  I plan to keep all of this up and will keep learning and growing throughout my thirties and inevitably, when I hit my forties, there will be new challenges, new setbacks, and most importantly, new experiences and opportunities to learn and grow.  It will be no different than how it’s been with my twenties and thirties.  Milestone birthdays should not come with fear.  If you’re living life the way you should, they should come with a sense of adventure.  Instead of looking at what you don’t have, look at what you’ve accomplished, set goals, and be excited about what is in store for you next.  It doesn’t matter who you are, if you aren’t constantly challenging yourself, learning new things, and finding new ways to improve yourself and your quality of life, you’re missing out on what life is all about.  There’s a whole world out there for us.  Get after it!

Lost and Found

There are several factors that mold the persona and behavior of humans.  Much of it stems from childhood experiences, parenting, and what our minds absorb when we’re young.  As we grow we follow our own morals and beliefs and do what we think is the right thing.  However, no two people have the same exact reality.  What one person believes is the right thing may seem idiotic to another person.  Most runners, hikers, and other outdoor enthusiasts are generally happy people.  And happy people often look out for each other and will help someone else who has an unfortunate mishap, while others may take advantage of their situation instead.  So, I like to think that runners, hikers, and other outdoor enthusiasts have adopted the ‘do the right thing’ type of moral attitude, rather than act selfishly.  At least that’s what I was hoping during my drive home from my morning trail run on Sunday.  Allow me to explain why.  

Earlier that morning, I began running at 6:00 AM on the Ice House Canyon trail towards the saddle, then proceeded up the Three Tee’s Trail towards Telegraph Peak.  The morning air was cool and still as the sun slowly rose.  It was the first time in the last several months that I required the use of my arm warmers in this section of the San Bernardino Mountains.  When I reached Telegraph Peak, the sun had made its way into the sky as I stood, admiring the view.  On my way back down to the parking lot I was having a blast.  I was cruising down the trail at a nice pace and I felt good and energized.  All was going splendidly until I arrived back at the parking lot and patted the left side of my shorts.  That’s when I realized something peculiar.  This was the pocket I had put my cell phone in, as I had so many other times when I went running.  But when I patted it, I felt nothing.  I lifted my shirt and peered down my left side, and sure enough, my phone was gone.  “Shit!” I exclaimed.  I stood there for a moment, then turned around and headed back up the trail, eyes glued to the ground, searching carefully.  I began seeing some of the people I had passed moments earlier before reaching the parking lot.  Our exchanges went a little something like this: “Dude, are you going to jog back up again?” “(laughs) nope I dropped my phone.  You haven’t seen a phone on the trail, have you?” “Nope, sorry.  Good luck”.  “Whoa man, you again?” “Yeah, I dropped my phone.  You haven’t seen it, have you?” “Aww dude that blows.  Sorry man, I haven’t”.  “Did you lose your keys, man?” “Nope, cell phone”.  After about five minutes of walking at a brisk pace up to the trail, I began to realize that this was a losing battle.  The last time I had used my phone was to take a picture on the Three Tee’s Trail near Telegraph Peak.  After that, I hadn’t checked my pocket to make sure it hadn’t fallen out.  Essentially, the damn thing could have been anywhere between where I was standing and six miles up the trail.  And if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, add 4,600 feet of elevation gain.  I didn’t have the time or sufficient water supply to trek that far again.  I decided the best thing to do was to head home and figure it out from there.  It was approaching 9:30 AM and it made little sense to spend potentially another four hours wandering around the trail.  Once I reached the base of the mountains, I called my wife, Janet from Von’s in Claremont.  The ladies working the balloon counter were kind enough to let me borrow the store phone after having a chuckle at my current predicament.

   

And that brings us back to my thoughts on how outdoor enthusiasts are generally “cool” people.  Based on the people I’ve met and befriended through the running and hiking community, reading memoirs by Dean Karnazes, Scott Jurek, and other outdoor enthusiasts, and the level of impact that outdoor activities has had on my own life, I have formed the theory there is a direct correlation between our happiness level and how much time we spent outdoors.  Sure, it’s nice to watch a hockey game or a TV show on a weeknight after work while eating dinner but Janet and I very rarely watch TV during the day on weekends.  Some people prefer to spend their weekends indoors glued to their TVs and laptops.  That bores me.  I’d rather be spending my time outside on the trails or out and about with Janet and Brady eating at good restaurants, walking around town, or running errands.  The more we spend time outdoors, the happier we are, and happy people are generally more understanding of others and treat them with more tolerance and compassion.  This thought is always in the back of my mind, but at this particular moment it was burning in my mind like a wild fire, mainly because I was hoping that if someone found my phone on the trail, they would be living proof of my theory and would either turn it into the ranger station or contact Janet so it can be returned to me, rather than try to sell it or throw it away.  Most people who hike the Three Tee’s Trail are in a no phone service area for a good portion of the day, so my plan was to wait until late afternoon and call and text my phone from Janet’s phone to see if anyone had picked it up.  If someone had found it, they would likely be finished hiking and in an area with service by late afternoon.  If that didn’t work, I would try calling the ranger station to see if anyone had turned it in.  I was going to try everything I could before having to resort to getting a new one.  

Once I arrived back home, I took a shower and we headed out to run a couple errands and stopped at Corner Bakery for lunch.  We had just sat down and were waiting for our food to arrive when I noticed that Janet’s phone was buzzing on the table.  I looked down and to my amazement and delight, the caller ID said she was getting a call from my cell phone!  She picked it up right away.  The guy who was calling had been hiking earlier that day and stumbled upon my phone near the junction where the Ice House Canyon Trail meets up with the Chapman Trail.  Luckily for me, I don’t lock my phone so he was able to get in and see my text messages.  Judging by the texts between Janet and I, he made a strong assumption that she was my wife or girlfriend and dialed her phone.   He lived in Upland and said he would be home for the rest of the day.  Later on in the evening, we killed two birds with one stone and had dinner in West Covina before stopping at the guy’s place in Upland.  I received my phone back, thanked the guy immensely for his act of kindness and honesty, and all was well again.  I was extremely grateful that I had my phone back in one piece and narrowly avoided the frustration, not to mention the financial burden, of getting a new one. 

I felt extraordinarily lucky because my theory on outdoorsy people proved to be true.  This guy is a testament to the fact that there are some very honest people on the trails who watch out for others and generally care about their well-being.  Not that I don’t love the city of Los Angeles, but if I had dropped my phone there, for example, things could have easily swung in the other direction and the chances of getting my phone back likely would have been much slimmer.  These qualities are they kinds of factors that create a strong sense of friendship and unity among those who frequent the mountain trails.  This guy saved my ass, and if I get the opportunity in the future, I will surely return the favor for someone else!

Euro Honeymoon Part 2: Greece

The windy, narrow road passed by old ruins, stone walls, and along the foothills of a small mountain range as we rode through the hills of Santorini in the back of a taxi.  Finally, we arrived at our apartment which was situated in the hills above the village of Emporio. Our Air bnb hostess was awaiting our arrival and after greeting us, we began walking up a flight of winding white stone steps that led past other apartments up to ours.  Our apartment was one of the highest on the hill and included an enclosed patio and a small pool about the size of a hot tub.  The interior was small but very charming and perfect for two people.  Our hostess was delightfully talkative and helpful as she showed us around.  We marveled in the conversation and listened to her patiently, but we had a dinner reservation in Imerovigli in thirty minutes that we didn’t want to miss.  I finally was able to break in and ask her how far away the town was.  “Oh, that’s far at all” she replied.  “It’s about two, maybe three cigarettes”.  I looked at her quizzically.  “Two or three cigarettes?”.  She sensed my confusion and began laughing.  “In Santorini, we measure car ride times by how many cigarettes you can smoke along the way”.  By two or three cigarettes, she meant that the car ride was about twelve to fifteen minutes.  All three of us had a good laugh at that one.  Thirty minutes later, we arrived at La Maison restaurant and were escorted to our table.  Once we sat down at our outdoor table, I noticed the view and thought I was dreaming.  The sun was beginning set, turning the horizon reddish orange.  Directly in front of us was a beautiful view of the ocean with the island of Nea Kameni in the center, some twelve hundred feet below.  White buildings lined the cliff side above the ocean on either side of us and were visible all the way down the coast in both directions, owing to Santorini’s unique shape loosely resembling a backwards “C”.  The white buildings were mostly villas and houses and were lighting up as the sun gradually set.  Our food was remarkable and we lounged around for a couple of hours, taking in the view.  When it was time to leave, we had trouble dialing a cab driver with our cell phones, so the hostess kindly offered to call for us.  She came back a minute later letting us know that the driver was on his way.  “Efcharisto poli” I said, thanking her.  The people of Santorini were incredibly welcoming and accommodating.  Our hostess at our apartment had also helped us by calling the same cab driver who had dropped us off from the airport to drive us to the restaurant.  We made small chit chat with the wait staff.  Many of them were from the mainland, close to Athens, and were in Santorini doing seasonal work.

 

We spent the next three days riding our rented ATV around the island visiting beaches, shopping in Thira, sailing around the caldera, swimming in the ocean, and eating delicious cuisine at the local restaurants.  As a gyro fanatic, I was thoroughly impressed with the food just about everywhere we ate.  The gyro was juicy and flavorful, but the tzatziki sauce was noticeably more robust than most of the Mediterranean restaurants I frequented in the U.S.  Every morning I woke up and went for a run to start off the day.  I would run from our apartment down the windy road into Emporio, and out to the beach.  After returning home, I would take a shower and ride the ATV down to the local bakery to buy fruit and baklava for breakfast.  When I bit into the first piece of baklava I had, I almost fainted.  It was about two inches thick and deliciously sweet with honey dripping from the bottom as I picked it up.  Three days later, we departed the ferry boat and arrived on the island of Mykonos.  Santorini had been beautiful and relaxing, but Mykonos, which is known for its vibrant night life and being home to over forty beaches, had a different vibe.  The view from our villa was the best yet.  It rested peacefully at the end of a steep, narrow road overlooking the pure blue ocean below with other Greek islands visible in the distance.  As the sun fell below the horizon, the lights began to shine from the houses on the hills and the ferry boats in the ocean.  The next morning, we jumped into our rental car and headed out to explore the famous beaches.  Our hostess was very informative and told us about the best beaches to explore the night before.  We stopped at a small restaurant at the foot of the hill near the water where the food was delicious and my Greek coffee was strong, muddy, and thick as motor oil.  It was better than any coffee I had ever had in the United States and wired me with energy.  The fascinating and magical thing about Mykonos is that one moment you could be driving through old ancient ruins in the middle of nowhere, and the next moment you crest a hill and a beautiful beach appears below.  Such as the case when we drove to Paradise Beach.  It was a gorgeous sandy beach with umbrella chairs, a gift shop, restaurant, and of course a couple of bars.  We laid in the sun and when we got too hot, we’d run into the clear blue ocean and swim for a while to cool off.  Then we’d lay in the sun and dry off and repeat the same process over again.  We followed the same process at Super Paradise Beach, which was a little bigger and known for its parties.  When we left the beach at 6:00 PM, dance music was playing and people were already starting to dance on the tables in the bars.  I imagined what it would have been like if we came back at 11:00 PM.  We spent the evening walking around the town of Mykonos, which is the main town on the island and where most of the island’s residents live.  The town offers numerous activities and services catering to tourists including several restaurants, bars, clubs, and stores.  The scene resembled an outdoor mall as we walked along the narrow walkway through a maze of white buildings.  We passed expensive clothing stores, gelato shops, restaurants with small outdoor tables, and clubs with dance music thumping inside.  There were all walks of life around.  College students, millennials, and older folks from all over the world and everyone seemed to be having a great time. 

The next morning, I awoke before dawn feeling energized.  The jet lag had turned my sleeping pattern upside down and although I was getting enough sleep, it was difficult to wake up before sunrise, which was something I am used to doing regularly.  This was the earliest I had woken up during our trip and I thought it would be a great opportunity to get a longer ten or eleven mile run in.  I threw my gear on and opened the door to our villa, breathing in the fresh, cool air.  I took off down the narrow road, running down a steep downhill path with lights along the hill in the distance below me leading to the ocean, which appeared to be a giant black hole in the predawn darkness.  The path led to a junction where the road forked off to the left and continued down towards the ocean with the other road veering slightly right, leading further into the hills towards a lighthouse.  I chose the latter.  Our hostess had talked about a lighthouse located at the end of a desolate road in the hills that had a great view.  After a steep climb, I came upon it.  It rested majestically atop a hill on the edge of a cliff side.  The steep road had led to a small dirt parking lot with a path leading up to the lighthouse.  The sun was just cracking the eastern skyline and the light still shined brightly, bringing back memories of visiting the beaches in Michigan where just about every pier has a lighthouse at the end.  During the overnight sailing trips with my Dad and his racing pals along the Michigan coastline, we would always see the lighthouses on shore, sometimes using them as navigation tools.  I always marveled in how cool it looked being out on the lake in the middle of the night and watching the lights make their 360-degree turn, flashing out on the lake, around the mainland, then back out to the lake every few seconds.  I stood on the cliff side admiring the view of the ocean and slowly turned back, looking towards the hills behind me.  I noticed a distant mountain peak a few miles away that appeared to be the highest point on the island.  Once I found my way back to the dirt parking lot, I located a road that appeared to lead towards this peak.  The road began a gradual incline and crested a hill, with several houses and villas along the road at the top.  From there, it dipped down and started winding towards a small valley where a few horses were standing in the field below.  I veered to the left, crested another hill, and came upon a fork in the road with one path continuing straight, the other leading towards the peak.  At the corner was a wooden sign in the shape of an arrow pointing up the road to the summit.  All it read was “Kastro” in Greek letters.  I figured this was likely the name of the peak and I began running up the road, which soon turned to a dirt trail along the mountain side.  The peak was getting closer and closer and after several twists and turns, I finally made it to the rocky summit.  I was standing on the highest peak in the area which offered a sweeping panoramic view of the island of Mykonos, as well as the surrounding islands and the ocean.  The sun had now made its way into the sky, adding a vibrant orange to the surroundings.  The experience was surreal.  I spent about ten minutes admiring the view on top of that peak and for those ten minutes it felt as if nothing else mattered.  All my concerns melted away and I didn’t have a care in the world.  I didn’t think about the future, or the past.  I just lived in the moment.  I focused completely on the present, on what I was doing and where I was at that particular moment.  While running down, I thought about the story of Pheidippides, the ancient Greek messenger who ran from Marathon to Athens to deliver the news of a Greek victory over the Persians in the Battle of Marathon and immediately collapsing and dying after proclaiming the victory to the people of Athens, thus creating the basis for the modern-day marathon.  I was about one hundred miles away from where this run took place but running through the hills in the country where long distance running was invented was one of the most inspiring experiences of my life.  My journey continued down towards the ocean, along the road, and when I arrived back at our villa, I had covered around eleven miles.  Janet was awake in bed so I drove into town to get us some breakfast.  I felt like the happiest guy in the world and was all smiles when I greeted the employees of the bakery and fruit market with an enthusiastic “Ya Sas!”, a standard Greek greeting that doubles as both hello and goodbye. 

The following afternoon, we boarded our flight to begin the long journey home.  We had a twelve-hour layover in Moscow, followed by a twelve-hour flight back home to Los Angeles.  Let me tell you, spending twelve hours in an airport terminal is not pleasant.  It was tough getting sleep on a tile floor using a backpack as a pillow, and after listening to the flight announcements on the PA system almost non-stop for eight hours, it took every ounce of composure I had to not scale the pillar like a koala bear, tear the speaker off and throw it out the window.  When we finally made it home, Janet and I both fell asleep at 5:00 PM and slept straight through the night.  I awoke in the middle of the night thinking about our trip and what an incredible journey it was.  The history, delicious food, kind people, natural beauty, all things I will miss about Italy and Greece, and how I would love to return to both countries someday.  My last thought before falling back asleep was how rejuvenating it felt being back home in my own bed.   

Euro Honeymoon Part 1: Italy

A delicious smell filled the air as I ran past a small bakery sandwiched between two apartments in the narrow alley way.  Inside the window lay trays full of Italian pastries, cakes, and cookies.  I inhaled the heavenly aroma, thinking that I had just found a great place to stop by and get some breakfast once I finished running and took a shower.  Tall apartment buildings with the occasional store on the ground floor lined the narrow alley way as I ran along, the alley eventually giving way to a sidewalk.  It was a typical city block with sidewalks on either side and buildings, shops, and restaurants lining the way.  Only one minor difference; there was no street between the sidewalks, there was a canal.  The city of Venice (or Venezia in Italian) has over one hundred and seventy-seven of these canals.  Acting as streets, they divide the city into one hundred and eighteen different islands which are all connected by over four hundred bridges.  I ran down the sidewalk and onto a bridge where I stopped to take in the view.  Colorful venetian style buildings lined the canal in a straight line before curving to the right in the distance.  The sun had begun to make its way into the sky and was casting an orange glow on the water and the boats that rested in the water tied up near the sidewalk.  

Janet and I had arrived in Venice the evening before.  It was the first of many cities we would be traveling through during our epic Italian/Greek honeymoon.  We were starting off in Venice and would be traveling through Florence and Cinque Terre before flying to Greece and spending time in Santorini and Mykonos.  I ran past a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant where Janet and I had gotten pizza the night before.  It was quite small with only a large pizza oven, a counter where orders were taken, a glass case beneath the counter to display pizza slices, and another small counter with a helping of condiments and napkins.  There was no place to sit inside and could probably accommodate no more than ten people at once.  I’ve said for many years based on experience that these restaurants always have the most delicious food.  We stumbled upon this place the night before while walking around town and I told Janet “This pizza is going to be awesome.  I can tell by the look of this place”.  And indeed, it was!  The slices were large and thin with fresh ingredients and incredibly appetizing.  I’ve had plenty of delicious pizza in the USA but this was on a whole new level.  It was unlike any pizza I had tasted before.  The deliciousness of authentic Italian pizza derives not only from the freshness of the ingredients used but the way it is prepared.  The dough is stretched extremely thin and is often cooked only for a couple of minutes at an extremely hot temperature which creates a crust that is crispy on the outside and moist and soft on the inside.  The serving of cheese is relatively light and the sauce exquisitely fresh.  With tomatoes being a key ingredient in Italian cuisine, the tomato puree combined with garlic, olive oil, and oregano gives the sauce a distinct and robust flavor.  The pizza was so good we went back for seconds and thirds.  And of course, we had some tasty gelato and red wine for dessert from the gelato shop and wine bar which were conveniently located within fifty feet of the pizza joint.  

Cafés were opening, produce stands were being set up, and souvenir shop owners were opening their stores as I ran down the relatively quiet walkway which would be cluttered with thousands of pedestrians within an hour.  One of my favorite things about running in an unfamiliar place is people watching.  It’s fascinating to run by watching the locals go about their day to day lives in a place that is so different than home.  Every city and every country has their own unique way of life and running through these neighborhoods offers a unique look at the everyday morning routine for the inhabitants of such places. 

Running in Florence (Firenze in Italian) was a different vibe.  We stayed in a loft in a quaint residential neighborhood up in the hills on the outskirts of town, about three miles from the town center.  Unlike Venice where it was relatively flat, my route in Florence followed a narrow road that climbed up a gradual incline.  As I casually strolled up the road, the quiet, residential neighborhood slowly faded away, the area becoming more remote.  Approaching the foothills of the nearby mountain range, a stone wall came into view up ahead.  As I got closer, I could see that the road continued as it curved up to the left past the wall.  Turning to the left, I now ran with foothills to my right, and a distant view of downtown Florence to my left.  I ran past a couple of rows of houses as I crested the hill and began descending back down.  I ran carefully, thinking that a car could come whizzing up the narrow road without warning but I didn’t see any cars anywhere.  I began to realize that unless someone lived in the row of houses at the crest of this hill, they would likely have no reason whatsoever to drive down this road.  As I continued to descend, the road passed through a small vineyard with trees lining the side of the street.  I reveled in the tranquility of the experience.  It was a beautiful, sunny morning, not too hot, not too cool.  It was dead silent when I paused the music on my ipod and I decided to unplug for a little while and enjoy the peaceful surroundings.  The quiet street eventually led down to a busier main road and I was soon deposited back into civilization.

We had friends from Los Angeles who just happened to be traveling through Florence at the same time so we made plans to meet up that afternoon.  After rendezvousing at the San Marco Piazza, we walked together and climbed the four hundred and sixty-three steps that led to the top of the giant dome at the Florence Cathedral.  The view from the top of the Duomo resembled a sea of large, rectangular white and yellow buildings with brick red rooftops being dissected by narrow streets with the occasional clock tower or cathedral poking through.  In the background lay the green peaks of the Apennine Mountains.  The climb to the top had gotten our hearts pumping but the sweeping, panoramic view was well worth it.  After climbing the Bell Tower and visiting the Uffizi Gallery, we dined at a steak restaurant recommended by a tour guide.  He advised us to use our fingers when ordering a steak.  The best way I can describe this process is to hold your hand out like you’re going to shake someone’s hand, lower your thumb, and you use your fingers to show how thick you want your steak.  You use all four fingers if you want the thickest cut, or three fingers for the next thickest cut, etc.  We did as the tour guide instructed and twenty minutes later a whopping forty-nine ounce, rare cooked, masterfully prepared steak arrived at our table.  It was the biggest steak I’d ever seen and looked like something that you would feed a crocodile.  It took all four of us to finish it and it was delicious!  

The next morning, we bid our friends farewell and while they continued their journey to Rome, Janet and I headed to Cinque Terre.  This distinct region along the northwestern coast of Italy is composed of five small distinct villages all connected by boats, trains, and hiking trails.  The area is not accessible by car from the outside but several trains are available with stops in all five villages.  Like Venice and Florence, Cinque Terre had a personality all of its own.   But unlike Venice and Florence, there were no museums, souvenir vendors, or tall towers to climb up.  The landscape resembled a rugged mountain village with a small downtown and featured several colored buildings along steep cliffs, some with long drop offs, and blue ocean below.  Along the cliffs were several harbors and the land loosely resembled the shape of a horseshoe which made for some great views and sightseeing.  Following the walkway, we came to a small harbor where several people were swimming.  Jumping off the cliff side into the clean, turquoise Mediterranean water was incredibly soothing.  We swam around for a while and later sat at an outdoor lounge enjoying Campari spritzes and appetizers while taking in the view.  We sat there for hours and as the sun set, the lights of the buildings began to shine, creating a multi-colored scene of buildings on hills along the cliff side.  The view was breathtaking and we couldn’t get enough.

The next afternoon, we were on a train back to Venice to stay for one more night.  We loved Cinque Terre and would have loved to have stayed longer but we were thankful for our visit and happy that we had a chance to experience three very distinct areas of Italy.  It was nothing short of beautiful and we were now ready to head to Greece for part two of our trip. 

The Chicago Days: From 3 Mile Jogger to Multiple Marathon Finisher

It was just after 5:45 AM when I stood up out of bed.  I brushed my teeth, put in my contacts and prepared for my daily 4-mile morning run.  I slipped on a dry fit running shirt, my running shorts, socks and shoes.  Then I proceeded to layer on a running jacket, a beanie, and a thin pair of gloves.  Looking out the window, it was still dark outside except for the streetlights illuminating the snow, sidewalk, and parked cars on the street.  I grabbed my ipod and my keys, headed out the door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk.  The temperature read 14 degrees Fahrenheit on my phone.  I tucked my phone into my pocket, turned on my ipod, and began running. 

Chicago is known for many things.  It’s ridiculously cold weather, shopping, sports teams, being a small and clean New York, and its music scene.  I will always remember it for it’s delicious food, the friends I made, and most notably, the place where my journey as a runner began.  Shortly after graduating from college in June 2008, I landed a job at a local law office in my hometown in the Detroit suburbs.  After a few road trips to attend interviews, I accepted a position at the law firm’s headquarters in Chicago in May 2009.  It was time for the first chapter of my journey out west.  On May 26^th, 2009, I packed up and moved to Chicago to pursue this new opportunity.  It was 2 days before my 23^rd birthday.  Luckily for me, I had friends living in the Wicker Park neighborhood of Chicago who were kind enough to let me crash on their couch for a couple of weeks.  Although the pace and way of life was new to me, I adapted to big city life pretty quickly.  I was enjoying my routine of taking the train to downtown (known to locals as the Loop) every morning, putting in a hard day’s work at my new job, and spending my evenings sampling Chicago’s delicious take out restaurants and talking with my friends about my day, about city life, about how exciting it was to be away from home, and how every day was more fun than the previous one.  My friends were awesome and introduced me to Chicago style cuisine, helped me meet new people, took me to local hangouts, and helped me learn my way around the city.

I eventually settled in an apartment on Chicago’s north side about a block away from a quiet beach on Lake Michigan.  I fell deeper into my routine, and Chicago began to feel more and more like home.  Although I had a longer commute on the train, I still ran almost every day, often in the evening after work.  In an attempt to showcase the best of what my neighborhood had to offer, I designed a course that led down the street and out to the beach, followed the beach for a while, then traveled back inland, eventually leading back to my building.  The course could range from 3 to 4 miles depending on how far along the beach I wanted to run.  Living in a brand-new city and neighborhood naturally made me want to run longer and more frequently.  I was curious about what I’d encounter along the way.  I wanted to be by the beach.  I wanted to get to know my neighborhood, and I wanted to become part of the community.  When I left Michigan, I had never run any further than a 5K distance, I drove my car a lot, and didn’t do much walking.  In Chicago, I traveled much more frequently on foot, walking to and from train stops every day during my commute and making round trips on foot to the grocery store, restaurants, and coffee shops.  Most days during that summer in 2009, I would run 3 or 4 miles after work, take a shower, grab my book, head to the beach, and read for a while in the sand by the lake before returning home to have dinner.  This was my first time living alone and on my own with no roommates.  I was in complete control of doing what I wanted when I wanted.  Life was good and it was simple; Wake up, put in a solid day at work, come home, run, read by the beach, have dinner, and hang out with my friends on the weekends. 

By the time summer turned to fall in late September, I had lost 30 pounds and was easily able to run a 10K distance.  I woke up feeling more energized every morning.  With the seasons changing and the air becoming cooler and more refreshing in the morning, I began running in the morning before work.  I began going to sleep earlier, waking up earlier, eating a more balanced breakfast, counting my calories, and generally taking better care of myself.  After running my first sanctioned 10K race in November, finishing in just over 48 minutes, I ramped up my training and ran outside nearly every day even throughout the winter months when the morning temperature typically hovered in the teens.  I joined CARA (Chicago Area Runners Association), a local running club which introduced me to more runners and more activities.  In Spring of 2010 I moved back to the Wicker Park area and went on to complete my first half marathon in April of 2010 in my college town of Kalamazoo.  I ran two more half marathons that summer, and had my sights set on running my first marathon.  The Chicago marathon is held every year in Grant Park on the first Sunday of October.  The race is extremely popular among running junkies, attracts runners from all over the globe, and caps out at 45,000 participants, often selling out quickly when registration opens in March.  As excited as I was to be part of this prestigious race, I was a bit overwhelmed by it.  I had never run any further than a half marathon before and doing two of them back to back seemed daunting.  A few of my co-workers knew of my life outside of work as a runner and suggested I talk to Matan, one of the attorneys who also was a running fanatic.  One day at work, I swung by his office to chat.  I told him that the upcoming Chicago marathon was going to be my first one.  Matan was an accomplished runner who had run 3 marathons at that point and had lost track of how many half marathons he had completed.  My mind was blown.  “It’s hard to imagine even running 14 miles” I said.  After hearing my concerns, he gave me some unexpected advice; slow down.  “Do long distances at a ridiculously slow pace, almost like you’re going too slow, and that’s what’s going to save you.  Your fitness will improve.  Make sure you’re logging around 35 miles per week and begin to taper off three weeks before the marathon”.

 

It worked.  I slowed my pace, refined my breathing pattern, and soon found myself capable of running 17, 18 miles.  As I steadily added miles to my training runs, the thought of running a marathon was now becoming more realistic.  I could know digest the thought of completing 26.2 miles, so to speak.  After more weeks of training, running in both the morning and evening, and developing my form, the morning of the marathon arrived.  The night before, I had enjoyed a delicious meal at a local Italian restaurant with my Aunt Nancy and Aunt Katie who had come to town to support me in the race.  I arrived in Grant Park and took my place in the pack, anxiously waiting.  I had gone over my race plan beforehand which was to simply run steadily as long as I could before resorting to walking.  It was going to be a warm day so I also had to be sure that I was staying hydrated and drinking at aid stations.    The gun went off at 7:00 AM and the race was on.  The first 21 miles were survivable but at mile 22 my tank was running on empty.  I was forced to walk and my legs cramped up so badly, it required substantial effort to even move forward.  Finally, I decided to just hobble over to the sidelines and stretch my legs out.  Shortly after, I resumed forward progress hobbling along, running when I was able.  The last 2 miles were sheer determination and grit.  As I approached the finish line, the spectators were cheering so loudly, I couldn’t hear my ipod anymore.  I hobbled over the finish line, completing the race in 4 hours and 16 minutes.  I let out a victorious yell and threw my arms in the air in celebration.  I was overcome with joy and emotion that I had just completed 26.2 miles on one of the most prestigious courses in the world!  There is something special about finishing that very first marathon.  A feeling that is truly unique and will never repeat itself.  You feel as if you’ve conquered the impossible and you know in your mind and soul that you can officially call yourself a marathoner.  You’ve become a member of the elite few who ever challenge themselves to attempt such a feat.  With this new feeling of accomplishment, your fears shrink, your demeanor becomes more carefree, and the problems in your life seem more solvable.  Nothing is ever the same from that moment forward.  With a finishers medal placed around my neck, I tracked down Aunt Nancy and Aunt Katie who had seen me running at various points along the course and were tracking my progress.  I gave them a big hug and told them I was beyond grateful for their support.  I also ran into a few friends I had met in the running community and we exchanged kudos and pats on the back.  When I finally made it home, I promptly knocked out for a good three hours. 

After the 2010 Chicago marathon, my running didn’t just continue, it thrived.  I ran another marathon the following May and the Chicago marathon again the following year while running numerous half marathons in between.  I began participating in races with my friends Bethany, Ajay, and Marina.  I played beach volleyball with them during the summer and Ajay’s coffee shop along with their spacious apartment were frequent hangouts for our group of friends.  Bethany, Ajay, and Marina were accomplished runners in their own right, and we had lots of fun especially participating in the holiday themed races like the Santa Hustle, a local favorite that takes place in the first weekend of December. Bethany and Ajay would later be my team mates when I returned to Chicago from Los Angeles to participate in the Ragnar relay race from Milwaukee to Chicago in June 2013.  My old friend and roommate Sean from college eventually moved to Chicago as well and had recently taken at least a mild interest in running.  He and his girlfriend had a place in Bucktown, where they formed their own band, “The Winchester Sound” (named after the street they lived on).  Sean and I would meet at the train stop in Wicker Park and go for 2 or 3-mile jogs around the city catching up on old times and goofing around.  When we weren’t running together, I would attend The Winchester Sound’s shows which were often held at local bars or restaurants.

When it came time for me to make my long-awaited move to Los Angeles in March of 2012, it was evident that my fitness level, determination, endurance, and speed were like night and day compared to three years prior when I had first arrived in Chicago.  I had gone from running no further than a 5K distance all by myself to hammering out multiple marathons and participating in numerous races with my friends.  I had lost over 30 pounds, adopted a healthier life style, learned a lot about living in a big city, went to Cubs games, went snowboarding in Wisconsin, made a lot of great friends, had some love interests, advanced in my professional career, and generally learned a lot about life and living.  It was hard to say goodbye, but I knew that California was where I belonged.  Now having 3 marathons under my belt, I was convinced at the time that my running career had reached its peak.  If only I had known what was instore for me when I arrived in California.  I had no idea that 5 years later I would be standing at the start line of a 100K trail race.  

A New Approach

Millions of people around the world run for a variety of different reasons.  To get exercise, to stay in shape for another sport, to explore.  Some people run 2 miles at a time while others run over 100.  Some doing it merely for exercise, while others are fanatics.  There are several reasons to run and no wrong or right way of doing it.  Many people also have several reasons why they don’t run.  Hearing reasons why people don’t run is just as intriguing to me as hearing reasons why they run.  A reason what I get frequently is that people find it boring.  Many people have told me that they have tried running but due to boredom and fatigue, they often spend the entire time looking at their phone or watch, wanting it to be over as soon as possible.  Even running junkies have days when they feel this way, but there are many ways to make running a more interesting and enjoyable activity. 

I encourage you to use your senses while running.  Keep your head level and really look at the world around you.  Look to the left, look to the right, look straight ahead.  If you’re running a familiar route, you will see things that you barely noticed before.  That is one of my favorite things about running through nature; I always notice something new.  And if you’re running a new route, you will take in all the natural world that is surrounding you, and if you run there again you will discover something new.  Take a deep breath every so often and inhale the fresh air.  This is especially a refresher when it is cool outside.  Really taking the time to look around and breathing in the fresh outside air allows us to form a connection with the natural world, which in turn nourishes our souls and makes us happier and more comfortable.  Think about your dog when you take him or her for a walk.  Watch as he looks and sniffs around.  Does it seem like he’s in a hurry to get back home?  Doesn’t it seem like he could just walk forever effortlessly at times? He looks around, smells everything, and wants to go places he sometimes shouldn’t.  He’s exploring and is completely in tune with his surroundings.  Dogs love going for walks because that is how they form a connection to the natural world.  When your dog goes crazy at the sight of you holding the leash, he knows.  The more often dogs get walked, the happier they are.  The connection to nature is what makes them happy.  In that respect, people are no different.  There is a direct correlation between our happiness level and how connected we are with the natural world.  I also encourage you to change it up.  If your everyday route is becoming too redundant, switch things up by running on a nature trail, through a new neighborhood that you haven’t seen before, by the beach, or along a lake shore.  Every city and neighborhood has unique outdoor places of interest to go running regardless of where you live. 

Another common reason I hear for people’s distaste in running is because it hurts.  Well, the truth is it’s supposed to hurt to an extent.  If you don’t have minor aches and pains here and there, you’re not doing something right.  But there are ways to mitigate the pain that running causes such as shin splints, foot pain, and knee pain.  These types of pain are caused by too much pounding on hard surfaces and incorrect foot landing.  If you’re having lots of pain in your feet and legs, even running a short distance but pounding on the pavement, chances are that is the source of your pain.  The key to minimizing the pain is running with proper form; coming down mid foot, minimizing the impact the ground has on your body by coming down lightly, and taking short strides.  Coming down hard with too much emphasis on your forefoot or heel causes irregular stress to your tibia and shin muscles, resulting in shin splints and knee pain.  Coming down mid foot minimizes the impact and allows all your leg and foot muscles to work evenly.  Even if you run with proper form, you will still experience a little pain and discomfort but these little nuisances have a way of working themselves out.  The more frequently you run, the faster your body will be in ridding itself of the minor pain.   A great way to perfect your running form is to run barefoot.  Running barefoot is the most natural way to use your leg and foot muscles.  With nothing between you and the ground, your feet are making direct impact which will cause your body to naturally minimize it’s contact with the ground and allow you to run lightly.  To minimize pain, it’s best to start off running on the beach, on smooth pavement such as a bike path, or a grass field going short distances.  Going from using footwear to going barefoot and logging longer distances right away could cause a lot of discomfort.   

A lot of people listen to music while they run.  While some runners view it as a distraction, putting on the right music can increase your focus, energy level, and speed.  Overtime, the music you listen to while you run will likely become your favorite.  As a guy who loves music, I’ve found that running can also be a cool way of enjoying it in a different way.  When most people are listening to music it makes them want to move.  It makes them want to either bob their head, dance, or air guitar.  Being in motion while running is a different approach to physically enjoying the music.  It also helps to have a running friend or group of friends.  Running in groups allows people to encourage one another and it gives you the opportunity to catch up, hang out, and talk.  Being connected by having a shared goal to run a certain distance is also a factor that can strengthen friendships. 

Running isn’t for everyone, but it is a great way to get exercise, stay in shape, and explore.  If it seems miserable, you would be surprised how the experience can change by using these techniques to help change your outlook on the sport.  The great thing about running is that we are all students and teachers.  There is always useful information to pass along to others and plenty to learn from others as well.  In time, the results will speak for themselves and could take you to some wild places!

Don't Forget To Laugh

Running long distances can create a plethora of feelings and emotions.  Everything from feelings of excitement, exhaustion, and pain, to anxiety, optimism, and accomplishment.  While running a marathon, runners often experience a whirlwind of emotions that leaves them feeling like they lived a whole year in just a few hours when they cross the finish line.  In addition to abundant training and conditioning, there is another action that is required by runners to be successful in long distance running; they need to laugh.  Anyone who has been a long distance runner for long enough knows that there is no shortage of funny moments in the sport.  A key element in running is experiencing the humor and creating fond memories with friends and family that can be shared and treasured for a lifetime. 

On the morning of July 4^th, 2017 Janet, Brady, and I ran a fourth of July themed 10-K with some of Janet’s coworkers.  To our delight, we noticed that there were a lot of older people who looked to be in their seventies and eighties participating.  They weren’t all moving swiftly, but they were out there making it happen.  Seeing them also triggered funny memories of how we saw so many naked elderly men when we ran Bay to Breakers six weeks prior.  When the post race email from the Bay to Breakers organization was sent out to the participants advising them that the race photos were available, Janet and I were appalled, but then we were laughing like hyenas when we saw the action photos of her during the race.  There she was, dog leash in hand, and standing behind her to the left in plain view was a gentleman who looked to be in his mid-seventies in his birthday suit, full frontal, looking on as if nothing was amiss.  We couldn’t stop laughing.  If we had tried to share that photo on Facebook or other social media sites, it would have been flagged and removed immediately.  Later that day on July 4^th, we congregated at Janet’s mother’s house.  We’re always thinking of clever ways to mess with Mom so we decided it would be hilarious to show her the outrageous photo of Janet from Bay to Breakers.  She immediately began laughing which made us laugh along.  We then proceeded to watch TV and looked back at Mom a few minutes later to find that she was still staring at the photo.  We just looked at her until she looked up at us and we began laughing hysterically.  Mom loved it.  We did too!

I too have had my fair share of botched race photos.  Sometimes I’m not ready for the camera and a picture will be taken of me with my eyes closed or my tongue out.  The funniest race photo I’ve ever had was when Janet, our friend Anthony, and I ran Revel Mount Charleston, a half marathon near Las Vegas.  We arrived the night before, had a delicious dinner, and woke up at 3:45 AM on race morning.  The course was primarily downhill and followed a mountain road from part of the way up Mount Charleston down into the city.  Janet, Anthony, and I split up throughout the race but during the last mile, I spotted Anthony in front of me and pulled up next to him.  He was hurting but he was still moving pretty good.  We shuffled along together towards the finish line and just as we crossed, a photographer was on the sidelines.  As we ran by, I smiled and threw my arms in the air.  I didn’t think anything of it until a few days later when the race photos were posted online, I saw myself with my arms in the air smiling, but Anthony was right next to me in the photo with a look on his face like he was about to cry from excruciating pain.  In a comical way, this photo did a perfect job of capturing all the emotions felt from opposite ends of the spectrum.  Late last year a few of my co-workers and I ran a Tough Mudder race in Temecula.  The Tough Mudder is not your average foot race.  The course is ten to twelve miles long and contains several army style obstacles.  Getting through these obstacles requires a team effort, and when the photos were posted, I noticed that as I was helping my friend Zach over an obstacle, my palm was right on his rear end.  “Looks like someone is trying to cop a feel” he said to me.  “What can I say?  You’re sexy” I joked.

I’ve also had moments where I’ve been “that guy” while running.  One summer morning, I was on my way down from Cucamonga peak on the Ice House Canyon trail when I spotted a group of hikers about a hundred yards in front of me down the trail.  In a flash of distraction, I tripped over a rock and came crashing down on the trail right in front of them in the midst of saying hello.  The damage was nothing more than a few scrapes and cuts and I got right back up and continued onward.  The hikers were speechless and looked at me as if they had just seen a space alien.  I ran by them grinning letting them know that I was okay, trying to lighten the tone.  Throughout the rest of the run, I laughed to myself at my clumsiness and made jokes to hikers who inquired about my bloody knee, saying things like “Tell the kids this is what happens when you’re not careful” and jokingly explaining that a hiker had tripped me because it angered him that I was going faster than him.   

Last July, I was finishing up my last leg of a relay trail race near Lake Tahoe.  Janet, myself, and three of our friends were a five-person team participating in an eight-person event known as Ragnar Tahoe.  I was finishing my thirty fifth mile of the race and although I was having a blast, the cumulative miles and high altitude were taking a toll on me.  With a quarter of a mile left to go, I ran past spectators cheering me on and someone cracked open a Coors Light, handing it to me as I ran by.  I ran for about fifty yards before taking a pull from the can when a guy who looked to be about eighteen said “Chug! Chug!” I knew he was poking fun but in my discomfort from the altitude sickness, I didn’t quite share this same attitude and I got a little annoyed.  “Dude, seriously?  I just ran thirty-five miles I can’t chug right now!”  The guy laughed and apologized.  “It’s okay man, I’m just not feeling my best right now” I sounded like a whiny teenager riddled with angst and regretted getting so worked up.  After crossing the finish line, I finished the beer and although I felt a little sick and light headed, I was overjoyed that I had just finished my last leg and that we as a team would soon be finished.  I laughed to myself about my grumpy response to the kid on the side of the trail and the ridiculousness of how I got annoyed over something so silly.   

Between the signs created by LA Marathon spectators that read “If Trump can run, so can you!” and being crammed into a two-person tent with two other guys on Mount Shasta, I’ve had plenty of laughable moments throughout my many adventures and I look forward to more.  Humor is a key factor in developing an attitude towards running.  If you want to have a good outlook on running, it is important to laugh at not only the funny moments but also at yourself sometimes.  Running can be, among many things, painful.  When we push our minds and bodies to their limit, it isn’t always fun and we need the comedic moments to help make it all worthwhile.  Just like any other hobby, it’s important to have fun while doing it.  Having fun and laughing creates a positive experience, an optimistic attitude, and keeps us coming back for more.  So, when you’re out there and hurting, feeling like you can’t go any further, try to laugh and smile.  It goes a long way and may be the key factor that gets you to the finish line!

Dream Big: The Domino Comparison

In 2011 I read “Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner” by Dean Karnazes, one of my running heroes.  Although a very inspirational read, there was one section that especially intrigued me; his detailed account of running his first Western States 100 in the summer of 1994.  In the book, he recounts the race from start to finish, describing in detail the course, terrain, and the highs and lows he encountered along the way.  The Western States 100, officially known as the Western States Endurance Run, is a one-hundred-mile foot race held every year on the last weekend of June in Northern California.  Beginning at the base of the Squaw Valley Ski Resort, the course is held entirely on trails and traverses the Sierra Nevada Mountains across rugged terrain.  Runners ascend just over eighteen thousand feet, descend nearly twenty-three thousand feet, pass over snowy peaks, descend into brutally hot canyons, and cross several streams and rivers before arriving at the finish line on the Placer High School track in Auburn, California.  At one point, it was considered to be one of the most grueling foot races in the world.  Most people can’t imagine the idea of running one hundred miles.  As I read Dean’s memoir, I must admit, I fell into this same category with the non-believers.  I recall thinking “this Western States 100 sounds really fun but there is absolutely no way I could ever do that”.  Hell, I had just run my first Marathon six months prior.  The thought of running beyond twenty-six point two miles baffled me.  How is it humanly possible to run one hundred miles?  How is this guy not dead? How did he make it all that way without his body experiencing a complete meltdown?  As exciting as that section of the book had been at the time, I dismissed the possibility of running a one-hundred-mile footrace as something that simply would never happen for me.  Sure, it was possible for some people but I was certain that I would never have the bio-mechanics, physical strength, and mental grit to run even beyond a marathon.  In my mind, the marathon was the ultimate running challenge.  I could go twenty-six point two miles but anything beyond that was completely unworldly.   

As the years went on, I read Ultramarathon Man several more times along with Dean’s other books, and my curiosity began to get the better or me.  More specifically, I began to take a particular interest in the Western States 100.  I read about the race on Wikipedia and on the official website, and viewed race photos of runners passing over the summit of Squaw Valley, through the beautiful forests, and through the notorious canyons.  I watched youtube videos and began learning as much about the race as I could.  By this time, I had finished nine marathons and was capable of running fifteen or sixteen miles on any given day.  I had also moved to Southern California and, through an unlikely series of events, had taken up trail running.  Instead of strictly running along the city streets of my neighborhood in Los Angeles, I also ran on trails in Griffith Park and the San Gabriel mountains.  I loved the thrill and excitement that these trail runs brought me and I wanted more.  In search of a more adventurous race, I came across the Bulldog 50K while surfing the internet.  The race looked exciting, but still, fifty Kilometers is beyond a marathon.  Would I be able finish?  I had finished nine marathons and was running on trails regularly, but would my endurance be able to carry me through thirty-one miles?  After pondering the idea for a little while, I signed up.  The race was four months away.  “No turning back now” I thought to myself.  When race day came, I was ready.  I had run the LA Marathon earlier that year and done lots of training on the trails in preparation for the race.  I stood at the starting area trying to alleviate the butter flies in my stomach.  “It’s just a little trail run” I thought to myself.  “We’re just going to go for a little run on the trails.  Don’t worry about how long it will take or how hard it will be.  Just go.”  When the gun went off, I took off slowly, taking a steady and reserved approach to the early stages of the race.  The course was completely enclosed within Malibu Creek State Park in Calabasas, California.  I ran up and down hills on exposed hiking trails, through tree lined paths, and over rocky passes.  I hiked up the steep inclines, ran on the flat sections, and tore down the descents.  All was going seemingly well until I began to hit a wall around mile twenty-seven.  I began feeling loopy and my breathing became staggered.  At mile twenty-eight, my leg cramps abruptly became so painful, I was forced to stop and stretch on the side of the trail for a good four minutes.  There was an uphill climb during the last two miles, something I could normally do without too much effort, but after running nearly thirty miles, it was beating me into submission.    It was slow going but I persevered and shuffled my way to the one hundred yard stretch to the finish line.  I began sprinting in excitement and came bursting across the finish line, throwing my arms in the air in celebration.  Moments later, I received a commemorative belt buckle, which is often the prize for finishing an ultra.  When the volunteer placed it in my hands I was beyond overjoyed.  I felt like I was Mario and I had just saved the princess.   Two years prior, I never thought I would be capable of running beyond a marathon.  I never thought I would have the courage to test the boundaries, push my mind and body to new limits, and dream bigger.  The realization was like stepping into another dimension.  I had now crossed into a world where so few people ever set foot in life.  I never truly believed that I could do it until I crossed the finish line and that belt buckle was placed in my hand.  “Sir? Can you please keep moving so the other finishers can come through?” In the excitement of the moment, it dawned on me that I was still standing right in the middle of the finish area.  I looked up and saw a volunteer standing in front of me “Yes!  No problem, sorry” I grinned.  I was so excited I felt as though I was walking on a cloud as I made my way back to my car. 

After finishing the Bulldog 50K, the thought of running Western States seemed more practical.  Sure, I had only completed thirty-one miles, about one third of the length of Western States, but I began to wonder if, with some training, I would be able to gut out those one hundred miles.  Getting into Western States is no easy task.  The first step is to qualify by completing a race of their choosing, which is almost always a 100K or a 100 miler.  If you qualify, you must apply for the lottery within the seven day application period, and cross your fingers that you get selected.  The race website has a list of qualifying races from which applicants can chose to enter.  I chose The Canyons 100K which was to be held in Foresthill, California in late April, on the Western States Trail.  If I finished within the eighteen-hour cutoff time, I would qualify for Western States, however I looked at it more as a new adventure and challenge.  I made it to mile forty-eight before I had to be pulled from the event due to not making it to Rucky Chucky by the cutoff time.  Although I did not finish or qualify for Western States, I had a chance to race on the most challenging section of the Western States Trail and enjoyed the experience immensely.  I promised myself that I would return to Foresthill the following year after more training to seek redemption at the Canyons 100K.  When I take a moment to step back and look, even though I didn’t finish, it’s alarming to me that I would attempt a 100K.  This wasn’t even a 100K on paved roads, it was on mountain trails with several thousand feet of elevation gain and loss on rugged terrain.  If someone had told me two years prior that I would be attempting a 100K footrace someday, I would have looked at them sideways.  How did I go from running twenty-six point two miles and calling it a day, completely dismissing the idea of running further to attempting to run sixty-two miles?  This analogy can best be compared to a set of dominoes.  You can stand one two inch tall domino up that weighs an ounce next to another domino that is a foot tall and weighs two pounds but it is impossible for the small domino to knock the big one over.  Now, if you put several more dominoes in between the two with each one slightly bigger than the previous one, you can tip the small one, momentum will build up, and eventually the big one will fall.  When I had finished running my first marathon on paved streets, running one hundred miles on a trail seemed impossible.  I had taken baby steps by finishing several more marathons, taking my running from the flat streets to the hilly mountain trails, logging more distance, completing a 50K race, and finishing forty-eight miles of a 100K race.  Each of these elements had represented a domino in my line.  I have since made it a goal of mine to finish the Western States 100.  How am I going to do that?  More dominoes.  The next domino in my line is to complete more 50K races, complete a 50 miler, complete the Canyons 100K, complete at least one other 100K race, and run Western States, the final domino in my line.

 

I have applied this domino theory to other aspects of my life including my academics, making the move from the Midwest to California, holding on to relationships, and most recently, the development of my career.  If something seems impossible or unattainable just think of the domino scenario.  Achieving goals is not just about striving to achieve the goal itself, it’s about taking the right steps to get there.  Applying the domino theory and taking baby steps will help you realize that you can achieve so much more than you ever thought you could and nothing is impossible.  So, as those legendary Boston rockers say, “Dream on, dream until your dreams come true!”.   

The Shasta Connection

It was approaching 3:30 AM on Saturday morning as I attempted to turn my body over in my tight quarters.  I was wrapped in a sleeping bag, wearing a pair of snow pants and a fleece jacket, sleeping between my two friends Nick and Scott inside a two-person tent on the snow covered ground, 10,400 feet up the side of Mount Shasta.  As I turned, I felt my foot lightly strike Nick in the head.  Or maybe it was his face.  “Sorry Nick” I said.  No response.  He was knocked out and apparently didn’t feel or hear a thing.  What a fun night this was!  I closed my eyes in an effort to get a little more sleep before it was time to start climbing again.  I began cracking up about my current predicament knowing that without a doubt, Scott, Nick, and I would become best of friends amid this experience of being crammed together in a tent all night on a mountain, barely able to move.    

My adventure began at 4:00 AM on Friday morning.  I began stumbling around my apartment trying to wake up, getting my gear together for the upcoming adventure.  As I gathered my equipment I took mental inventory of everything I needed: Mountaineering boots, snow pants, ice axe, gloves, helmet, headlamp, goggles, bandana, warm clothing, tent, sleeping bag.  Scott and Jose arrived a few minutes before 5:00 AM.  I said goodbye to my wife and dog, crammed my gear into Scott’s trunk, and we hit the road.  It was a nine hour drive from West LA to Mount Shasta.  We made our way up the 5 freeway through the central valley past farms, ranches, small outposts, and distant mountains.  After passing through the town of Redding, the flat, featureless land gave way to rolling hills filled with Douglas Fir trees and granite mountain peaks.  As we crossed the bridge and passed over Shasta Lake, we watched the jet skiers and wake boarders on the lake below.  A warm summer day was in progress in the Northern California mountains.  Our destination came into view as we descended a hill on the freeway.  Part of the southern Cascade range, Mount Shasta is a free standing mountain rising 14,172 feet, towering over all of the surrounding peaks in the area.  The mountain is so prominent, it can be seen up to one hundred and twenty miles away from the freeway.  Even in June, it was still covered in snow, completely white.  “Can’t wait to get up there” Jose said as we all fixed our eyes on the mountain.  We were going to be climbing with a group of thirteen people up Avalanche Gulch to the summit.  Due to its elevation and towering prominence, Mount Shasta tends to draw in extreme weather, the conditions having the potential to deteriorate sometimes within an hour.  We had all heard stories about this mountain.  About climbers being forced to turn around because they became so ill with altitude sickness, they could barely move.  About how people had gone back down alone and had gotten lost.  A few weeks ago, a friend of ours had climbed up eleven thousand feet before having to retreat back to camp for fear of heat stroke.  While the climb isn’t technically challenging, it is steep in certain areas and requires the use of crampons and an ice axe.  This expedition was going to be about one thing; working together as a team.  We all shared a common goal of reaching the summit and we would help each other along the way to accomplish that goal. 

When we arrived into town we made our way up the windy, tree lined road through the Shasta-Trinity Forest to the Bunny Flat trailhead.  Once the rest of our team arrived, we greeted each other with hugs, high fives, and handshakes, made our final preparations and began climbing around 7:45 PM.  The plan was to climb up the mountain side (there was no trail) in the snow to Helen Lake High Camp, rest for the night, and begin our push for the summit the next morning at 6:00 AM.  We made our way through the forest, single file, with the tree lined path soon giving way to the exposed mount slopes.  After a mile of climbing through the middle of the giant U shaped gulch, we turned around as the sun was setting.  The sunset was spectacular and various hues of purple, blue, and orange hovered over the horizon above the tree line and mountains in the distance.  We stopped at horse camp, elevation 7,900 feet, to de-layer and use what was by far the cleanest outhouse restroom I had ever seen.  As we continued to make our way up the steep mountain side, the sun was setting and soon fell below the horizon.  We switched on our headlamps, and although it was now dark and the temperature was in the 40’s, I hardly felt cold.  The steps up this steep climb were keeping my blood flowing and keeping my body warm.  Hours passed, distance was covered, and by midnight we were ascending a particularly steep climb, about a thousand feet below camp.   During a brief rest break we turned off our headlamps.  With no light pollution to dilute the atmosphere, the sky was absolutely stunning.  A million stars sparkled brightly down on us.  If we had looked long enough, we could have identified countless constellations.  As we pressed on, exhaustion began to set in.  The steepness of the climb, altitude, and the weight of my pack were taking a toll on me.  Still, I kept moving forward, periodically slipping in the uneven snow.  We climbers exchanged few words with each other along this challenging section but we were all focused and determined.  My world was confined to the light of my headlamp, the snow on the ground in front of me, and the footprints of Rigo, our leader, who was in front of me leading the way.  I was trying my best to climb in his steps to prevent stumbling.   “Man Rigo, your footprints sure are a nice view” I joked with my head down looking at the snow.  I occasionally looked up, hoping to see a horizon where the whiteness of the snow and the blackness of the starry sky came together, indicating that we were approaching the crest of the hill where we would arrive at Helen Lake, our destination for the night.  I stopped, looked back, and saw a long string of headlamps down the mountain.  Our group had become spread out.  Our other guide, who was in the back, had notified us via walkie talkie that a couple of our team members were having some cramping issues.  We decided it was best to stop and wait for a few minutes while they caught up.  We soon resumed forward progress, step by step, and I could now detect a line in the distance where the snow met with the sky.  “We’ll be there in seven minutes if we keep moving” Rigo said.  I kept climbing, feet sliding down in the snow occasionally, and soon we heard the sound of flapping tents.  As we crested the hill, the tents came into view.  Several of them were set up in the small, flat area, some of them next to snow walls or in holes to mitigate the strong winds that were rushing through.  One guy was in a down sleeping bag sleeping on top of a sleeping pad in the snow with a make shift circular wall built around him.  By the time everyone arrived, it was very windy and we struggled to get our tents set up.  Mine almost took me away like a kite while I was trying to slide the pole through fasteners on top.  After several minutes of trying and getting nowhere, I laid the tent in the snow and laid down, deciding I would go “cowboy style” i.e. sleep in my sleeping bag on top of my tent under the stars.  Nick offered to let me sleep in his tent so I helped get it set up.  When it was time to crash at around 1:30 AM, there were three guys including myself, crammed into Nick’s two person tent.  Laying right between Nick and Scott I said “Wow, I feel like a hot dog.  You guys are sure going to keep me warm tonight!” We had a good laugh and drifted off to sleep.  The wind below our tent around all throughout the night and it was difficult getting to sleep. 

I managed to sleep for a couple of hours but was wide awake when my rooster alarm went off at 5:30 AM.  After climbing over Scott and getting my boots on, I unzipped our tent and crawled outside.  The morning air was cold and refreshing and the sunrise was breathtaking.  A few people at the camp were also awake and admiring the view.  The only problem was the wind was still blowing and it was blustery.  I turned to face the mountain and watched a line of climbers pushing for the summit.  A few minutes later, Rigo emerged from his tent.  We exchanged pleasantries and watched the line of climbers.  “Half of those people won’t make it” Rigo said.  “Yeah, this wind is kind of brutal.  Hey, what do we do if we need to take a wiz?” I inquired.   He pointed to a small hill of snow next to a line of tents.  “Go up there and aim away from the wind”.  I had to wait a few minutes for the wind ease down but I did my business and remained dry.  Returning to my tent, I reached into my pack and pulled out a small pack of donuts and a granola bar.  The donuts had been dehydrated and were crumbling as I picked them up but they were still delicious.  I was feeling optimistic.  “we got this” I thought to myself.  All we need is the wind to dissipate.  Thirty minutes passed and the wind still howled.  Now, the people who were climbing to the summit were coming back down and running for cover.  The wind picked up and began blowing snow and ice.  Scott emerged from our tent in the middle of the chaos.  “Good morning buddy!  Welcome to summer camp” I said.  Tents were flapping everywhere, gear was being blown around, and people were trying to shield themselves from the blowing ice and snow.  Two hours later, the forty mile per hour constant winds had not let up one bit.  We had a group gathering and the unanimous decision was to head back down to the trail head.  No way we were going to be able to climb another 3,500 feet to the summit with forty mile per hour winds blowing snow and ice straight into our faces.  After a long struggle, we were able to pack all of our gear up and we began our decent back to the parking lot.  A few minutes after leaving Helen Lake, the wind had subsided and we could now enjoy the scenery.  It was a beautiful sunny day with clear, cool air and blue skies.  A few of us adopted a method of getting down the slope by taking off our crampons, sitting in the snow, and sliding down on our butts.  Not only was it lots of fun but it was faster than walking down.  Scott and I hiked down together for a while.  We chatted about how nice the mountain was, how crazy the weather had gotten, and how we would come back for redemption.

Eventually we made it back to our cars and once everyone arrived, we congregated at the Black Bear Diner for a meal around 1:30 PM.  During brunch, our guides congratulated us on our impressive feat.  As we ate, Ronald went around the table to each of us, pointing out what he viewed as our best quality.  He then went on to say that we were all winners, thanked us for showing up, and reveled in how much he loved the experience.  There was lots of laughter, smiles, and everyone seemed lit.  This adventure as a team had brought us all closer together and connected us all in ways we had yet to understand.  We finished eating, paid our tabs, and Scott, Nemo, Jose, and I bid the rest of our team farewell and began our journey back home.  After nine hours, I was dropped off at my apartment and hauled my gear inside.  Walking through the door, I gave my wife and a dog hugs and kisses, told them how much I missed them, and began sharing stories.  It was great to be home, but a part of me didn’t want this trip to end.  Even though the rest of the team and I had only been together for thirty-six hours, I missed them already.  We started out, all connected by one goal: reaching the summit.  If someone was struggling, we would give words of encouragement or physical assistance.  We were all in it together.  This ran deeper than sitting around, drinking beer, watching TV, and having meaningless conversations.  These were true friendships with a purpose.  This sense of togetherness and teamwork has created strong friendships within the running and hiking community.  Sometimes I won’t see these guys for a few months at a time, but when we reconvene, it’s as if we never missed a beat.  We pick up right where we left off.  In addition to hiking and climbing, we also participate together in several running events.  With each adventure, our friendship evolves and our respect for on another grows stronger.  I will be forever grateful to the friends I have made in the running and hiking communities both in California and in Chicago.  These are the friends in my life with whom I connect on the highest level.  We all share a hunger, a sense of adventure, and we revel together in our accomplishments.  Thank you for everything you guys are awesome!