One of the things that I relish greatly about long-distance
trail running is the solitude of the activity.
I have a busy Monday through Friday work week in Los Angeles, but I
often spend weekend mornings running on the local mountain trails or beaches, enjoying
the stillness of the early morning. Some
weekends, my friends and I drive several hours to hike in the Sierra Nevada
mountains or explore California’s national parks, and we’re right back at work
on Monday. It’s almost like I have two
lives, and they balance each other out perfectly. To me, there’s nothing more soothing than
going for an early morning solo trail run to unwind from a busy week.
At this particular moment, however, I longed for the company
of another human. It was approaching
3:00 in the morning, and I was two miles up the Sam Merrill Trail on a solo
forty-mile rally through the trails and streets of Altadena. My plan was to run past Echo Mountain, up the
trail through Castle Canyon, past Inspiration Point and down the Sunset Ridge
Trail to Millard Campground, come back the way I came, run eight miles through
the city neighborhoods, and run up the trail to Inspiration Point and back
down, completing the forty miles. This
would give me a nice mix of trail and road with considerable elevation gain. The stretch that leads from the trailhead up
to Echo Mountain is detached from the city, but there is cell phone reception along
the entire route, and it’s relatively close to salvation, should any problems
arise. The continued route to Inspiration
Point and Millard Campground, however, is more rugged and dangerous, cell phone
reception is limited, the route is less traveled, and it leads deeper into the
wilderness. I was on the Echo Mountain
route but there was not a soul on the trail, and I was feeling very alone in
the darkness. The further up the trail I
progressed, the more isolated I felt. In
times like this, the mind can play tricks, the imagination runs wild, and the
senses begin firing. I ran up a
switchback with the city lights behind me several thousand feet below, a canyon
to my left, a solid rock wall to my right, and several mountains peaks
surrounding the area. Although my
flashlight and headlamp were helpful in guiding me up the trail, I could only
see about twenty feet in front of me.
The surrounding mountain peaks looked like black pyramids in the night sky. It was dead quiet except for the sound of my
footsteps, and there was no sign of humanity anywhere near me. And then I heard voices. They were coming from either somewhere up
ahead on the mountain or in the canyon.
I wasn’t quite sure, so I shined my flashlight in the direction from
which they seemed to be coming.
Nothing. Were there really people
out here, or was I just hearing things?
And what was that noise I just heard in the brush? Was it just a small animal running for cover,
or something else? I was now beginning
to question whether I should proceed past Echo Mountain into more desolate
wilderness. I had been on this trail
probably a hundred times, but I hadn’t done any research on what kind of wild
animals lurk out here in the middle of the night. As I approached the junction where I would
bank left and head into Castle Canyon, I decided that running into remote
wilderness with limited cell phone reception on a rugged trail, all alone, in
the dead of night was probably a bad idea.
I had run on trails in the middle of the night before, but unlike the
sanctioned Ragnar trail races where there are other runners and volunteers
around, I was completely alone out here.
Okay, new plan; I would do laps up and down Echo Mountain until the sun
came up. My plan was being thrown off,
but I’d rather be safe. When I reached
Echo Mountain, I turned around and headed back down the trail. The view of the city was remarkable. The lights of Altadena, Pasadena, and
Glendale sparkled down below, with distant mountains dominating the horizon. Periodically, I’d hear noises in the brush as
I made my way down, hoping they were just small animals. When I arrived back at the trailhead, I
turned around and began lap two. Having
done one lap, I felt slightly less apprehensive, and my mind was able wander
more as I made my way up the trail a second time. My thoughts abruptly reverted to the present
when I spotted a light shining in the distance in front of me. I shined my flashlight at it and saw someone
moving far up ahead in the light.
Apparently, someone else was out there after all. But how did I not encounter this guy during
my first lap up to Echo Mountain? He looked to be moving forward at a slow pace
and I figured, whoever it was, I’d catch him within the next ten minutes or so. Just then, the light turned off and it was
once again pitch black on the distant mountain in front of me. When I turned around at Echo Mountain a
second time, I was puzzled. Where was
the guy I saw on the trail with the light?
There was no way I could have made it this far without passing him. Weird.
I began wondering if I had really seen anything at all. If he was real, he was moving much faster
than I thought and had passed the turnaround already. Or maybe he was a ghost. Running down the trail, I heard voices
again. It sounded like a group of men
talking and ended in a collective cheer.
The voices were coming from somewhere near the base of the mountain,
perhaps from a backyard or a house. They
were far below and well off in the distance, but it sounded as if they were
right next to me. This time, I was
pretty sure the voices were real, and a group of guys lingered down there
talking and cheering, just to screw with me, I’m sure.
On my way down after going up to Echo a third time, I saw a
light shining on the trail about a hundred feet ahead of me. “Good Morning!” I called out. As I approached, I saw two older men making
their way up the trail. “Good morning”
they answered in unison. “Man, am I glad
to see you guys. I was feeling pretty lonely
out here”. The men introduced themselves
as Carlos and Flacco and we chatted for a few minutes. They were regulars on these trails. Flacco had finished the Angeles Crest 100
eleven times, and Carlos had finished Western States three times. These were my kind of guys. I could have spent hours talking to them, but
I shook their hands, bade them farewell, and continued onward. By the time I reached the trailhead, I had
covered fifteen miles, and the first rays of the morning sun began lighting up
the eastern skyline. The idea of running
back up to Echo Mountain for a fourth time bored me, and the laps were becoming
too repetitive. It was time to take a
break from the trails and log some miles on the pavement. The trailhead is at the corner of Lake Avenue
and Alta Loma Drive, where both roads dead end, and follow a gradual downhill
into Altadena. I ran slowly down Lake Avenue
and began weaving in and out of the neighborhood side streets. I didn’t have a predetermined route, so I was
going to wing it, and run around Altadena for a while. I would then head back to the trail and run
to Inspiration Point and back, completing the forty miles. I had a pleasant stroll through the
residential areas of Altadena. The sun
was now making its way into the sky and people were out and about walking their
dogs and grabbing their newspapers. As
hours passed, and miles were covered, I grew more anxious about the challenging
terrain I would be facing on the trail during the last stretch to Inspiration
Point. Eventually, I decided it was best
to just get it over with, and I could always log more miles on the road
afterwards. I headed back out towards
Lake Avenue and towards the trail. When
I arrived at my car next to the trailhead, I wolfed down a banana and some
trail mix, and refilled my pack with water.
I continued once again up the trail, running at a moderate pace. There were now several hikers on the mountain,
and we exchanged greetings as I glided by.
I was past Echo Mountain and a little over a mile into Castle Canyon
when I was beginning to hurt pretty good.
Each step became more painful than the last, and the rugged terrain was taking
its toll. I came upon a group of hikers
who were resting on the trail side. As I
pulled up, I decided to take a seat on a rock next to them to regroup. They were on their way to Inspiration Point
and heading to Muir Peak afterwards. After
a few minutes, I stood up, gave them all a knuckle pound, and continued running. I covered scarcely another half a mile when I
was drinking from my camelback and the water abruptly stopped flowing. I had never run this far alone before and I
thought I had brought a sufficient supply of water, but I was now completely
out. Not good. I again sat down on a rock on the side of the
trail, thinking about what to do next. The
hikers I were now heading up the trail past me, as I sat there. They invited me to join them up to Muir Peak,
but I politely declined explaining that I was twenty-six miles into a run, out
of water, and I was going to head back down.
“Would you like this? I have more
than enough”. One of the hikers tossed
me a bottle of Gatorade. “Thanks! This will certainly help on the way down”.
When I finally arrived back at the trailhead, I was ready to
call it a day. I had covered thirty
miles, I was out of water, and my legs were hurting like hell. Not only was I exhausted physically, but I
was not focused mentally either. My
route from the beginning had been a bust, doing repeated laps up to Echo, then
freestyling it around city neighborhoods.
Not having a predetermined route killed my motivation and spirit. As I sat in my car eating more trail mix and
another banana, I debated on what to do next.
I still had ten miles left to cover, but with my leg pain and water
shortage, I couldn’t bear the thought of running another two miles, let alone
ten. I was exhausted, unfocused, sore,
and frustrated with myself for my foolishness.
Oh well, I covered thirty miles on difficult terrain with significant elevation
gain. This was my last training run
before the 100K race I had coming up, and I would be just fine. To hell with it. Time to head home and just write this one off
as a “bad day”. But still, I wasn’t
satisfied. It’s so easy to give up when
things are going wrong. Pain, lack of
motivation, and running out of water were good indicators that I shouldn’t
continue running. I could easily stop
and drive home right now. But could I
push past this? I was wimping out and
cutting my run short on account of physical and mental exhaustion. It was demoralizing, and I sat there
wrestling with my conscience. I kept
thinking of all the reasons why I should quit.
I wanted to finish, but it didn’t seem like there was much I could do
about my situation. But then I
remembered something. While running
through the city earlier that morning, I passed by a Chevron gas station, which
was closed at the time. Surely, they
would be open by now and the convenience store would have water. But what about my leg pain? I was certain that Chevron carried Advil as
well. Normally, I avoid painkillers
during long runs, but sometimes on rugged terrain, taking two Advil can make a
world of difference. If I could get
extra water and Advil, I could continue running. And if I could continue running, I could try
to grit out another ten miles. Could I
do it? I wasn’t sure, but I was willing
to try. I now knew one thing for
certain; I wasn’t stopping here. I stood
up, locked my car, and with my newfound determination, I ran slowly down the
road towards the gas station. My pace
wasn’t fast by any means, but it would do.
Arriving at Chevron a mile later, I was so happy to be there, it felt as
if I had been running through the desert for days and magically, a gas station
appeared. I went inside and purchased
two bottles of cold water and a pack of Advil.
“Ah, it’s one of those mornings huh?” the clerk asked as he tallied up
my items. “Yep! I’ve been running since 2:30 this morning and
I’m thirty-one miles in. That got his
attention and he looked at me surprisingly.
“Good for you man, that’s impressive!”
“Thanks! I guess you could say
I’m an occasional drinker with a serious running problem”. Once outside, I emptied one of the water
bottles into my camelback and took the two Advil. I stood there for a minute, trying to decide
which way to go. I had nine miles left,
so I decided to just keep it simple, and run along Altadena Drive for four
miles, turn around, and run back up Lake Avenue to my car, to the imaginary
finish line. I tossed my pack on and
continued down the road. As I made my
way through Altadena and into Pasadena, I was feeling much better. I had plenty of water, and the pain in my
legs was dissipating. I still ran
slowly, but now I had hope, which was more than I had an hour ago. The road eventually came to an abrupt dead
end and continued onto a trail. I reached
the four-mile mark while running on the dirt path and turned around. Now all I had to do was make it back to Lake
Avenue, then back up to my car. The
return trip was a long haul, but I was going to finish this forty-mile run,
come hell or high water.
I continued shuffling along, and soon arrived back at the
corner across the street from the Chevron station. Approaching a park bench at a bus stop, took
off my pack and sat down for a quick reprieve.
“Just one more mile left to go” I told myself. “All I have to do is make it to my car, and
I’ll be done with the forty-miler”. This
was no ordinary mile though. The last
mile back to my car was all uphill and I would be climbing about five hundred feet. Break time was over. Time to finish this beast. I put my pack on, crossed the street, and
began walking up the road. I ran slowly
when I was capable, but mostly I walked.
It reminded me of the infamous Badwater Ultramarathon. Virtually, all the racers are so exhausted
coming into the final stages, that they walk the last few miles up the road to
Whitney Portal. Although they are
fatigued and worn out, the last few miles are filled with emotion and grit
because they know that the finish line is getting closer with each step. As I power walked uphill, I thought about how
memorable this run had been. I thought
about how I was getting spooked in the dark, the two guys I met on the trail,
wanting to quit after thirty miles, the gas station clerk’s words of
encouragement, my DNF last year at the Canyons 100K, and my upcoming round two
attempt at the same race in a few weeks.
I laughed out loud to myself about the madness of the day’s events. A big smile spread across my face as
approached the final quarter mile stretch.
At that moment, I couldn’t even feel the pain in my legs anymore, and I
ran uphill the rest of the way, blasting through the imaginary finish
line. Arriving at my car, I threw my
arms in the air and let out a victorious “Yes!”. After overcoming the joy of finishing the
run, I took inventory. I wasn’t too beat
up, I was a little exhausted, and I was sore, but not dying. And best of all, I was smiling! Overall, I felt good, and I truly felt like I
was ready for my second attempt at finishing the 100K. Today was a day to remember for numerous
reasons, but the most significant was the message I took from the experience; when
running long distances, things are going to go wrong. There’s going to be pain and setbacks. I could either fight it, or accept it, and
find the will to continue, even when things are so dismal that all I want to do
is quit and go home. I took the latter
route, and it helped me to grind out those additional ten miles. Could I have picked a better course? Definitely.
Could I have pushed harder and gone faster? Absolutely.
Could I have been better prepared with more water? Of course. But despite the odds being stacked against
me, I pressed on when the desire to quit was overwhelming. I hopped in my car and drove home, excited
about the adventures that lay ahead of me in a few weeks.
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