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!”.