Better In Numbers

In addition to exploration and exercise, another highly valued asset that I gain from running is alone time.  Whether it is on city streets or on trails in the wilderness, putting on my headphones and escaping into my own world where I can follow my own course and just think about things is incredibly liberating.  Thus, many of my running sessions are done solo.  We all face every day issues at work and in our personal lives and running is my way of recharging my batteries so that I can tackle these issues with a fresh, positive, can-do mentality.  This mindset also trains me not to take the good things for granted and relish the pleasures in life more than I would otherwise.

As much as I love my solo runs, I always find myself feeling more energized and excited when running with other people.  This is true whether I’m competing in a race, or going for a run accompanied by friends or my wife and our six-pound Pomeranian mix, Brady.  Feeding off other people’s energy and enthusiasm fills me with excitement and adrenaline. 

As an early birthday present, my wife signed the both of us up for an annual race in San Francisco called Bay to Breakers.  The race, a favorite in the Bay area, is a 12 kilometer course across the city from San Francisco Bay on the west side of town to Ocean Beach on the east side.  Although a footrace, Bay to Breakers is widely known for its party atmosphere.  The number of racers often tops the 40,000 mark with many participants sporting costumes, some wearing barely anything or in some cases, nothing at all.  Bay to Breakers is one of the oldest and largest foot races in the world.  Conceived to cope with the hardships that plagued the city after a devastating earthquake in 1906, the race has been a local tradition since 1912 and has become nationally known throughout the years.  Bay to Breakers had intrigued me for quite some time.  I had read stories and heard of the madness (i.e. the costumes, the naked people, the crowds, the house parties along the course) and I was ecstatic that I was finally going to get a chance to see for myself. 

Janet, Brady, and I and arrived in San Francisco the day before the race and met up with some friends, spending the day hiking the trails of Land’s End and the Golden Gate Recreational Area before having dinner and calling it a night.  Relaxing in our hotel room that night, which was located right next to the start line, Janet and I discussed what we were going to do with Brady while we ran the race the next morning.  I had gotten word from the security guys setting up the barricades on the street that dogs were not permitted on the course.  But I didn’t want to leave him all alone in the hotel room for three hours.  Our only two options were to bring him along or leave him in the hotel.  We decided that we would bring him along and just hope that no one would make a fuss over it.  I mean, come on.  People run naked for goodness sake!  Having a small dog accompany us shouldn’t be an issue.  The next morning as we were getting ready, we heard the crowd roaring and the race announcer right outside our hotel down on the street.  At 8:00 AM the first wave of runners took off.  Our plan was to go downstairs and join one of the later waves hoping that there would be less of a crowd and Brady wouldn’t be too overwhelmed.  We exited the hotel and casually wove our way into the crowd of runners waiting to begin the race.  After an hour of waiting, our corral finally began at 9:30 AM.  During that hour, we were able to observe the creative and outlandish costumes and chat with some of the other racers.  Luckily, no one had given us a hard time about Brady.  Tortillas and beach balls flew and everyone was in good spirit.  Since we were in the second to last corral to leave the start line, we would be moving at a pretty modest pace.  Most of the folks back here were essentially participating to walk, have fun and people watch.  Due to the substantial amount runners, the race directors staggered the start, letting a corral go every fifteen minutes in an effort to not overcrowd the streets.  We were walking at a brisk pace, running occasionally.  Brady was having an absolute blast.  He was so intrigued by all the people and hopped along gracefully with his tongue out.  We occasionally had to pick him up in some areas where it was condensed to avoid him being stepped on or kicked but mostly he was on foot enjoying the new territory he was exploring. As we made our way down Hayes street, we encountered a pair of naked racers.  Janet got out her phone and snapped a picture.  “Let’s send this to Mom” she said.  “It will be priceless” We both laughed hysterically at the thought of her mom opening that text message only to see two older men bearing it all among a handful of racers clad in costumes and running gear (The photo was only showing their rear ends so it was a PG-13 photo).  Around mile 3 we scaled a steep San Francisco hill known as the Hayes Street Hill where Alamo square rested at the top.  The going was slow and the crowd was condensed so we carried Brady up this climb.  We as we carried on, we saw several house parties along the street with crowds of people, beer in hand, cheering us on from their balconies and front steps.  Several onlookers were also playing games and blaring music.  The scene was like a bunch of runners and speed walkers racing through an outdoor fraternity party along a city street.  We crested the hill, passing Alamo square and made our way downhill, entering the Gold Gate recreational area where the street widened and it was less populated so we could let Brady walk more freely and relax a little more.  We were now away from the building lined city streets and in a more nature oriented area where there were small fields, hills, trails and lots of trees.  We came upon a small waterfall with a creek rolling parallel to the sidewalk.  A group of guys wearing space jam themed costumes strolled by, one dribbling a basketball and another, a soccer ball.  Since the beginning of his short life thus far, Brady relished any opportunity he had to chase a bouncing ball.  So naturally, he went nuts at the presence of the bouncing balls, barking and trying to run towards them.  Upon witnessing this, the dribbler of the soccer ball, bearing a Taz costume, handed the ball to me.  “Here you go he can have it.  We found it along the course” he explained.  “Wow, he’s going to love you for that!” I responded.  We thanked him for his kind gesture and began kicking the ball down the road watching in amusement as Brady chased it trying to bite and jump on top of it.  Both feats were hopelessly impossible given the size of the ball and the fact that it kept rolling whenever he jumped on it which make it all the more entertaining to watch.  As we made our way down John F. Kennedy Drive towards Ocean Beach, the temperature cooled and a thin layer of haze began rolling in.  It had been warm, almost hot in the early stages of the race and the cooler temperatures felt refreshing.  The rest of the race was filled with smiles, laughs, crazy costumes, more naked people, beautiful scenery and positive energy.  This race offered the best of both worlds i.e. a little city, a little nature and I was loving it.  Janet and I were having a great time but Brady was having the time of his life.  He was all smiles.  After we ditched the soccer ball he ran up behind a girl wearing a tutu, jumped up and tried to yank it down.  We laughed hysterically, although the tutu wearer didn’t quite share this same sentiment, and I took off the bright orange bandana that was tied around my wrist and held it out.  As Brady jumped up trying to retrieve it, I would run with him in hot pursuit hopping along trying to grab the bandana from my outstretched hand.  As we approached the finish line near the beach the three of us picked up the pace and all crossed together.  The volunteers were even kind enough to give Brady a finishers medal.  After all, 7.44 miles is quite an impressive accomplishment for a little pooch!  It was our first race together as a family.  Looking at the pictures of the three of us on Janet’s phone during the Uber ride back to our hotel, I smiled widely.  Janet and I laughed as we looked through the photos.  Meanwhile, Brady didn’t waste any time curling into a comfy position and promptly passing out.  I had realized earlier on that it was his six-month birthday.  What an awesome way for a puppy to celebrate his birthday by running/walking 7.44 miles! Not only was the race tons of fun, but the three of us experienced it together as a family, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Later that afternoon after indulging in some delicious pizza in the Italian neighborhood of North Beach, we headed back home to Los Angeles.  Brady continued to sleep on the way home and we shared stories and laughed about our race experience.  These are the types of races I have grown to especially love.  Sharing the experience with other people with a common goal of completing the race.  As much as I love embarking on a solo endeavor, nothing can compare to participating in a fun run with your loved ones, feeding off their excitement, and creating new memories.  I promised Janet that we would do these types of races more often.  I was excited about what the future held.  We were just getting warmed up!

The Deeper Reason Why I Run

Among the many different reactions I got when telling my friends, family, and colleagues that I was going to attempt a 100K footrace, one of them was the question ‘Why?’.  A few of my co-workers couldn’t fathom the idea of someone running 62 miles.  A very simple question with a not so simple answer.  My response to this question was ‘because it will be fun!’  Clearly not the most informative answer but it was the best one I could formulate on the spot.

Still, these guys had a good point.  Plenty of people thought I had lost my mind or, as my cousin and the closest thing I had to a brother put it, I was ‘fucking nuts’.  Why would I attempt to run such a grueling race? Why would I run 31 miles on a hilly trail in Calabasas in the middle of summer or 35 miles through the trails of the Sierra Nevada mountains near Lake Tahoe with the entire trail being above 7,000 feet when I could stay in shape by just running 3 miles on a treadmill?  Why would I put my body through the torture of running such long distances?   In search of my answer, I revisited what got me into running in the first place. 

As my college years came to a close, I promised myself that I would spend more time exercising once I graduated.  I wasn’t in the best shape and needed to incorporate more physical activity into my routine.  I wanted to be fit and have more energy. After graduation, I began going to the local YMCA every day after work lifting weights, doing crunches and walking on the treadmill.  After several months, I became less interested in lifting and more interested in walking and eventually running on the treadmill.  Something about it gave me a rush and I steadily gravitated towards spending a full hour on the treadmill rather than 30 minutes.  After spending some time building up my endurance, I was able to cover 5 miles in one hour.  This new-found passion gave me an element of excitement in my otherwise ordinary life.  That hour that I spent every day running at the YMCA was extremely rejuvenating after a day at the office and I looked forward to it every day.  Then one day as the winter was fading away and spring was taking over the outdoors in Michigan, I opted to go for a run outside instead of going to the YMCA, taking the advice of some family friends who were runners.  As beneficial as running had been in my life up to that point, running indoors on a treadmill wasn’t giving me the sense of adventure that was I after.  That 2 mile run around my neighborhood outside was enough and I became hooked.  I hardly went to the YMCA after that and began doing my 3 and 4 mile jaunts along different routes of my neighborhood.  I was living at home at the time and after so many years of driving and riding my bike, trekking around my Dad’s neighborhood on foot was an entirely new and eye opening experience for me.    Although I had grown up mostly in this neighborhood I felt as though I were seeing it for the first time.  I could take it all in and when I arrived back home I felt re-energized and accomplished. 

Running outside fed my appetite for adventure.  After moving to Chicago, I continued to run outside all throughout the year.  Getting to know my new home on foot was exciting and rewarding.  I was exploring a new area while putting my body to work and staying in shape.  In Chicago, I would go on to run 10Ks, half marathons and eventually complete my first marathon in 2010.  When I completed the Chicago Marathon for the first time I felt like I had seen more of the city in those 4 hours than I had in the entire year and a half I had been living there.  I would eventually create additional running routes in my neighborhood and even run to places I would normally take the train or bus.  I would run 5 miles to our landlord’s office and back to pay rent.  Sometimes I would run to restaurants to meet with my friends or over to our friends’ places to hang out. 

Living in California opened a whole new world for me.  Not only were there new neighborhoods to explore and beaches to run on, but it was here that I was introduced to something that would take my love of running to the next level:  Mountain trails.  I spent lots of time hiking the scenic trails in Southern California getting to know nature and taking in the sweeping views of the forest, mountains, and the city basin.  After a while I began running the same routes that I hiked.  It was slow going at first but as I did it more frequently, my endurance built and I could cover the distance in less time.  I was getting everything I loved out of hiking and I found that I could now run the same hiking route which filled me with a greater sense of accomplishment. 

I soon realized that my favorite method of exploring was on foot.  Whenever I traveled somewhere, either new or a place I’ve been before, I always incorporated morning runs into my trips.  Sometimes I would map out a course ahead of time, other times I would just run wherever.  Driving around in a car couldn’t even compare.  I could explore the trails, the city, the beach, all on foot, while taking it all in at 6 miles per hour.  And then I remembered all the times back home and living in Chicago where I would run different routes and run to places like the grocery store, my landlord’s office to pay rent, and my friends’ apartments.  It all started to become more clear.  I run distance to explore.  Of course, staying in shape is a nice bi product of running but I realized that it wasn’t the real reason why I looked forward to changing into my running gear, lacing up my running shoes and heading out the door.  There was a deeper reason; Running was my way of exploring.  I remembered how I felt like I had seen so much of the city after the Chicago marathon and how running through my old neighborhood was such a great experience compared to driving.  This was something much more than saying ‘Great!  I got my run in for the day.  It was so hard but I made myself do it’.  In my opinion, Running the Los Angeles, Chicago, Boston or any marathon is the best tour of a city one could take.  What could be better than seeing so many of the city’s landmarks and neighborhoods at a slow enough pace that you can take it all in and then reveling in the accomplishment of running 26.2 miles? Yes, 31 miles may be a long way to run but by running the Bulldog 50K in Calabasas, I had a chance to explore all of Malibu Creek State Park in 6 hours.  And I may not have been able to finish The Canyons 100K but still, that was 48 miles of the Western States Trail that I got to experience (I’m going back next year after some more vigorous training and this time it’s on!).  I believe there are many others runners who share this sentiment as well, and we can all relate.  Running insanely long distances isn’t about staying fit and forcing ourselves to run because we feel we need the exercise.  It’s about exploring.  It’s about adventure.  It’s about seeing how far we can push ourselves and how much we can accomplish.  Some might say we belong in the looney bin but I would say otherwise.  To me, running long distance is the most fun way of exploring and the purest form of athletic expression out there.

My First DNF - A quick recap of my attempt at The Canyons 100K

After successfully completing the Bulldog 50K in August of 2016 I felt as though I had stepped into another dimension.  I got my first taste of what it was like to run an ultra marathon and be part of that small group that runs beyond the standard marathon.  The sense of adventure and accomplishment caused me to dive even further and after a couple of months I felt I was ready for a new challenge.  After doing some research, I decided to sign up for The Canyons 100K, a double out and back course beginning at the elementary school in Foresthill, California.  The course would follow the Western States Trail through the ‘Canyons’ section, turn around at the pit of Deadwood Canyon, pass through Foresthill again and finally descend down to the American river where we would then turn around and head back to the finish line at the elementary school where we started.  On Saturday 4/29/17 after a restless night’s sleep, I awoke at 3:30 AM and began race preparations in the motel room that my wife, mother in law, and our dogs had reserved for the weekend in Auburn.  My wife dropped me off at the starting line in Foresthill in front of the elementary school at 5:15 AM.  I stood there among the other runners, shaking with anticipation until the race began at 5:30 AM.  The race was on!  We made our way up Foresthill road for a mile and a half until the road met up with the Western States Trail and we began our decent into Volcano canyon.  The notoriously challenging ‘Canyons’ section of the trail would be during the first 32 miles of the race.  The second half down to the river was relatively easy comparatively.  Making my way down, I began chatting with some of the other racers.  One guy, who was local, was about to compete in the Western States 100 mile endurance run for the tenth straight year in June.  Another older gentleman from Oregon had been an ultra marathon runner for over thirty years.  These were some of the gnarliest SOB’s I’d ever met and I fed off their enthusiasm.  Eventually we would come to the first of many river crossings at the bottom of Volcano canyon.  Approaching the bottom, we pulled up to a short line of runners waiting to cross the river.  The crossing was about ten feet wide and the water came up to my knees.  The icy cold water felt rejuvenating even though it was early in the morning and fairly cool out.  After stepping out of the river we began a sharp climb up to the first aid station at Michigan Bluff, mile 6.2.  I stopped there for a few minutes to delayer, use the restroom and grab a small handful of trail mix before hitting the trail again for the 3 mile 1,800 foot decent into El Dorado Canyon.  Running down the trail felt good and I was enjoying the scenery.  Though I tried to not let it shake me, I took mental note that I would eventually have to climb back up this decent for the return to Foresthill.  Once I reached the aid station at the bottom of El Dorado Canyon, I crossed the bridge and began the longest climb of the race, a 2,500 foot 4 mile climb up to The Pump aid station at mile 13.5 just before Devil’s Thumb.  It was a bit of a hike to get there but the enthusiasm from the other runners and the beautiful scenery carried me along pleasantly.  When I reached The Pump I was feeling pretty good mentally and physically.  I wolfed down some salty snacks, refilled my water bottle with electrolyte sports drink and my Camelback with water.  I received an uplifting sendoff from the volunteers, many of them in costume, and headed down the trail to make the decent into Deadwood Canyon where I would turn around at the bottom.  The plunge down there was steep and descended a good 1,700 feet in 1.5 miles.  Turning around at the bottom, I now had to make my way back up this steep climb.  It was a remorseless climb but the views were a good distraction.  Much of this section of the trail showcased the surrounding forest with towering pine trees, green rolling hills, and the snowy mountain peaks of South Lake Tahoe jabbing at the sky above the trees in the distance.  I finally passed by Devil’s Thumb and back through The Pump aid station and began picking up my pace, knowing that I was now going to be running 4 miles downhill back into El Dorado Canyon.  Still feeling pretty good, I refilled my water bottle at the gorge and began the long 3 mile 1,800 foot climb back up to Michigan Bluff.  It was tough going and my quads were starting to feel it, but the smell of fresh pine was in the air and when I finally made my way to the aid station at Michigan Bluff I was mentally lifted.  I paused there for a few minutes, moved onward, descended back down into Volcano Canyon, crossed the river again and eventually made it back to the junction where the trail meets up with Foresthill road.  Hobbling down the trail parallel to the road, I saw my wife and dog running towards me.  This made my smile and I could not have been happier to see them!  We ran together for the last quarter of a mile back to elementary school where my mother in law and wife had setup a chair for me and fed me fruit, donuts, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a good dose of healthy motivation. I had now covered 31 miles and was feeling great.  When it was time to resume the race, I could barely stand.  It took me a few steps to acclimate to the pain in my quads but eventually I was able to move forward.  I bid my crew farewell and set out to tackle the second leg of the race.  The trail would now drop around 2,500 feet in 16 miles and several sections of the trail rolled parallel to the American river.  The terrain was much easier than the first half.  I ran along gradually downhill to the Cal 1 aid station at mile 35 but shortly after departing, my quads began yelling at me.  A mile later, they were screaming.  By the time I hit the Cal 2 aid station at mile 40, they were cursing every four letter word in the book at me.  A volunteer advised me that it was 7 and a half miles to Rucky Chuck where the course would turn around and head back up to Foresthill.  The cutoff time to be there was 7:00 PM.  My watch read 5:26 PM so I was fairly confident I could make it.  The crowd at the aid station was enthusiastic and supportive and gave me a great sendoff but a mile and a half down the trail my quads had finally had it.  They simply couldn’t content with the downhill pressure anymore.  Going downhill was excruciating and I now could only shuffle about 20 feet before being forced to walk.  Although the odds seem stacked against me, I kept walking along, running when capable, still optimistic that I would make the 7:00 PM cutoff.  When I arrived at Ford’s Bar it was becoming increasingly apparent that my race would be coming to an abrupt end at Rucky Chucky.  This infuriated me.  How could I not finish?  I couldn’t believe I had dragged my mother in law and wife all the way here and was going to have nothing to show for it except sore muscles and mosquito bites.  I wanted to take the hat and race shirt that was part of my race package and burn them.  I had failed and that was it.  ‘Screw it’ I thought.  I may have failed but I’m at least going to preserve the last ounce of dignity that I have and walk my ass down to Rucky Chucky.  During the long walk to the check point I was able to re-assess the situation.  Sure, I had failed but isn’t failure part of learning and growing?  Isn’t it true that if we never fail, we aren’t challenging ourselves enough?  An oncoming runner shook me from my thoughts.  I had met her earlier on in the race and explained that even though I knew I wouldn’t make the cut off time I was still heading down to Rucky Chucky anyway.  ‘Hey man, great job’ she said ‘This course is a killer and the fact that you made it this far on your first 100K attempt is fantastic!’ I thanked her and said I would train harder and come back next year for redemption.  We parted ways and I made the final half mile walk to the aid station, quads on fire, barely able to walk forward, smiling widely.  At Rucky Chucky there were 2 volunteers and a half dozen other runners who were in the same boat as me.  We gave each other props for our courageous attempt and were driven back to the start/finish line by the volunteers.  Shortly after arriving, my wife picked me up and brought me back to the hotel.  Even though I didn't finished, it sure felt like I did.  I had covered 47.8 miles in 14 hours on the Western States Trail.  My crew was proud of me for how far I made it and I was so thrilled to have been able to run on this epic trail with such stunning scenery and where so many great ultra runners had set foot before!  I slept soundly that night with good vibes in my head.  So, Canyons 100K, you may have won this time but this is far from over!  I will train harder, log more distance and I’ll be back next year and this time it’s war!  And lastly, thank you for the experience and helping me further realize that failure is not the end of the road.  If you fail in life it simply means that you are living life the way it was meant to be lived.  And that’s living if you ask me!