"Anyone know how cold it's supposed to get tonight?" I heard someone ask as I helped Anthony set up our tent. "Yeah, looks like around thirty-four degrees" Brian answered. When I heard his response I almost fell forward into the half-assembled tent. "Seriously?" I asked. I had expected that the night time temperatures at the Los Coyotes Indian Reservation in Southern California's high desert would drop to the mid to low forties, but thirty-four degrees, two degrees above freezing, was a level of cold I was not expecting. Maybe it would have been more settling if we were shacking up in a warm, cozy cabin with heat and comfortable beds, but instead, the ten of us would be camping in tents, relying on warm clothing, bad coffee, and sleeping bags to keep us warm. And to top it off, each of us would be running at least a few miles in the dark through the frigid temperatures on some of the most challenging terrain of the Ragnar Trail series.
There are a few select things in this world that I have difficulty saying "no" to. Challenges, adventures, baklava, chocolate chip cookies, oh yeah, and trail running. When my friend and former co-worker, Alyssa initially reached out to me asking if I wanted to join her team for Ragnar Trail Los Coyotes, I was conflicted. I had been burning the candle at both ends all summer, running a 50-miler in Minnesota, climbing fourteen-thousand foot mountains, pacing my friend for the last forty miles at the Kodiak 100, and I had just completed a rather grueling Ragnar Trail race in Washington state. It wasn't easily, but I grudgingly declined the offer. I love trail running, but I was exhausted. I needed time to rest my body, and doing another Ragnar race was the last thing on my mind. I didn't think much of it until Alyssa contacted me again two weeks later, telling me her team was still coming up short. "I hate to ask, but do you know anyone who can run with us?" her message read. A few days after initially receiving the message, I sat in front of my computer, wrestling with my conscience. I was burned out from all of the running I had been doing over the last several months. I wanted to take the rest of the year off and just do long trail runs on my own during the weekends. But my friend needed my help. All Alyssa needed was one more runner to complete her team line up. If I join the team, I could have a chance to do the three things I love the most; run on trails, help people, and inspire others. Besides, I had done this Ragnar race the year prior and had a blast. The tables had turned, and I now had a new sentiment towards this situation. "I can run with you guys. Count me in!" I typed.
It was approaching 2:00 in the morning, the temperature no higher than thirty degrees as I finally crested the top of a 1,000-foot climb along the dusty fire road that seemed to go on forever. Approaching the top of the hill, a red light came into view. When I got closer, I saw that the light was attached to a sign with a red arrow instructing runners to make a left onto a dark single track trail. The course consisted of three "trail loops", the Green being 3.1 miles in distance, the yellow being 3.2, and the red, the most challenging loop, measuring 7.9 miles. Our team of eight runners would be running each of these loops one time on a rotating basis, all around the clock. As the color of the light and arrow would indicate, I was running the challenging red loop. As I diverted onto the narrow path that flanked off the fire road, things became a little more dicey. The minimal light that was being cast by the shining stars in the sky was now obstructed by trees and thick brush. The trail followed a series of up and down, zig zag twists around tree roots, boulders, and natural debris. My headlamp lit the way, but because it was so dark, I could only see a few feet in front of me. Tree branches and rocks seemed to appear out of nowhere and every step needed to be executed with caution. It can be challenging running on dark, narrow trails in the middle of the night. Unlike during the day when the natural daylight makes the path visible from several yards away, in the dead of night, your world is confined to the beam of your headlamp and you become instinctively cautious, especially on the steep descents, where it can be easy to trip and take a nasty fall. I followed the winding path through the darkness for a while, when suddenly as I ran up an incline, I came around a bend and the trail stopped abruptly in a small clearing surrounded by thick bushes. There was no way out and I quickly realized I needed to make a U-turn. I ambled down the hill for only about ten seconds before the path came back into view in the light of my headlamp. Apparently, I had missed one of the many switchbacks along this section of the red loop and went off the grid. Now back on course, I continued along through the midnight wilderness. Occasionally, I'd see the headlamps of other runners through the trees in the distance, but other than that, it was completely black, and other than the sound of the wind blowing through the brush that surrounded me, there was not a sound to be heard except my breathing and footsteps. How did I feel at this moment? I was having a blast. This was this kind of adventure that I craved and lived for. While others were ordering their last drinks at the bars and clubs in Los Angeles, I was two hours away, running along a winding trail through the wilderness in thirty degree weather, barely able to see in front of me. In my opinion, a Friday night doesn't get much more fun than this.
Earlier that morning, I rendezvoused with Brian, Anthony, and Jessica, three of my teammates, at the Metrolink train station in Tustin, where we loaded our gear into my Camry and headed down the freeway through the California high desert, arriving at the Los Coyotes Indian Reservation around 8:00 AM. Despite the only sporadic cell phone reception, we were eventually able to find the rest of our team, who had already set up camp near the path that led runners from the Ragnar Village to just outside of the camping area, where the trail split into three different paths for each of the three loops. Our group for the weekend consisted of Alyssa, her boyfriend, Travis, my other friend and former co-worker Anthony, Jessica, a girl from the San Francisco Bay Area whom we found on the Ragnar Facebook page, Alyssa and Travis's friends, Juan, Juan's girlfriend Mayra, Phil, Brian, Frank, and myself. Mayra came along with Juan for moral support and Frank was our volunteer. As we greeted each other and finished setting up camp, Alyssa distributed our team shirts. Our team name was "The Handmaid's Trail" which paid homage to Alyssa's fondness of the drama television series "The Handmaid's Tale". Our team slogan, which was printed on the back of our shirts, was "Blessed Be The Loop", a mockery of "Blessed Be The Fruit" a commonly used phrase in the show's dialogue. Aside from Anthony and Alyssa, I was getting to know everyone else for only the second time. Everyone was in good spirit and excited to be participating in the adventure. During the ride from Tustin, Jessica had told us stories of suffering from unimaginable medical issues in her past, and as a giant "F you" to all of the suffering she had endured, she was running half marathons, had just participated in a Ragnar road event the weekend prior, and had her sights set on becoming an ultrarunner. Brian, a father of two, was the comedian of the group, drawing constant laughs with his jokes and stories, and Frank, little did I know, was going to not only be our volunteer, but would also be preparing hot meals for us throughout the weekend on a modest camping stove. Being with such a fun and inspiring team was a powerful tonic and we fed off each other's energy throughout the day as we completed the course, loop by loop.
Reverting my thoughts back to the present, the winding, narrow trail gave way to an open sea of rolling hills, and the sky was again filled with shining stars. I hammered through a steady descent along a fire road, and made my way through another section of winding single track trail before finally approaching the junction where the trail intersected with a dark, quiet two lane road. Having done this race the year prior, I knew what was in store for me after crossing that road; I would begin the final climb of the loop, a draining 700-foot, two mile incline back to Ragnar Village. This was the section that most runners loathed, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other, and eventually the lights of the village came into view. As I rolled into the transition area, Travis took off running for the green loop as I handed him the team bib. Lean, muscular, and fast, Travis was an extremely solid runner. He had done very well on the yellow loop earlier that afternoon and, being our last runner of the order, he would be running the red loop as his last leg and as our team's final leg the next afternoon. As Travis ran off into the night, I meandered through the village towards the bonfires and heat lamps, where several other runners were attempting to keep warm in the freezing temperatures. Some runners were roasting marshmallows and making s'mores as I approached the fire. Although it was 3:00 in the morning, running the red loop had awakened my appetite, and I wolfed down a couple of s'mores, washed them down with a cup of hot chocolate, and began walking back to our campsite to get some sleep. Long distance running causes your body to generate heat and increases heart rate and blood flow, so despite the temperature being below freezing, I was able to stay fairly warm in my running shorts, a long sleeve thermal, a short sleeve shirt as my outer shell. But now that my heart rate was slowing and my blood was no longer pumping, the cold began to set in once again as I walked down the dirt road back to camp. Once inside our tent, I shivered as I changed into my warm, dry clothes. Anthony and Frank lay asleep next to me and I tried to not step on them or wake them up. This was the third Ragnar trail race I had done with Anthony. A long time running friend and former co-worker, he was built more like a football player than a distance runner, but he always tore it up on both the road and trails. The prior weekend, he had participated in a Ragnar road race, so he was doing two Ragnars on back to back weekends.
When the sun turned the starry sky to morning a few hours later, I didn't want to get out of my sleeping bag. The early morning air was frigid and I felt warm and toasty lying wrapped up like a mummy wearing long pants, socks and a hoodie inside the tent. Over the last three hours, I had slept sporadically, but it was very light sleep, and felt more like I was taking continuous power naps and resting my eyes. There was little sound throughout the camping area during the night except the runners' footsteps along the path and the occasional cheer, hoot, or holler in the distance. While I had been resting and trying to sleep, Juan and Brian had completed their loops and Alyssa was now on the course. Juan, a co-worker of Alyssa's, was the first runner in our line up and was running strong. His girlfriend Mayra, although not a runner, was very supportive and seemed to be enjoying the experience despite the cold weather. Outside the tent, Brian was telling the others about his experience running the red loop during sunrise and was flipping out over how our bananas had frozen throughout the night. "Wow, it's so good!" he said, his words muffled by his chewing. I started laughing and soon dragged my butt out of my sleeping bag and stumbled out of the tent, breathing in the cold, crisp morning air. Someone had gotten word that the temperature dropped to 27 degrees Fahrenheit the night before. Many people don't realize that Southern California can get that cold, but we were at 4,500 feet of elevation, and in the high desert, temperatures can be extreme. On our camping table, Frank was whipping up some bacon, sausage, and omelets. To our delight, he was really rising to the occasion. The morning prior, he cooked up sausage burritos when we arrived, and prepared stuffed bell peppers for lunch. As I finished my breakfast, I sat near the path cheering on runners as they glided by. Among them was a runner who was wearing bright colors, had pink hair, several tattoos and piercings, and reflective sunglasses. I had first met her the day prior while walking to the village from our camp site. She didn't know who I was, but I recognized her instantly. As I approached her, I made eye contact. "Catra Corbett!" I said in excitement. A former drug addict, Catra conquered her habit, cleaned up, and was now a famous ultrarunner who had completed more than 250 ultramarathons and had been gaining a strong following on social media in the last several years. I purchased from her an autographed copy of her memoir and she entertained our team with inspiring stories of superhuman endurance the night prior. Not only was she a rock star of a runner, but she was very humble and a fun person to be around. I couldn't wait to start reading her book when I got home.
After a few brief minutes of waiting, Phil sprinted into the transition tent, handed me the bib, and off I went down the yellow loop. Having completed the green loop the day prior and the red in the middle of the night, I now just had to conquer the yellow loop before I was finished. The course traveled the same route as the red loop for the first two miles through winding single track trail before finally flanking off to the right at the top of a long climb. As I crested the hill, a sea of hills rested under the sun in the distance in front of me. It was a beautiful morning, the chilly air refreshing and energizing. Knowing that we were nearing the end of the race, I put the hammer down for the rest of the loop and came sprinting back into the transition tent after a few more climbs and descents. Travis immediately emerged after I came running in and took off to tackle the red loop, the final leg of our race. Back at the campsite, we relaxed in the sun and began packing up before heading to the finish area to wait for Travis, where we would all cross the finish line as a team. Several teams lined the last hundred yards of the path cheering on runners and providing moral support. Some were even handing runners beer as they passed by. When Travis finally approached, we went wild, formed a tunnel as he ran through, and ran behind him to the finish line, crossing all together, throwing our arms in the air in celebration. We finished in just under twenty-nine hours, around the middle of the pack. Immediately after crossing, we embraced in a group hug, collected our medals, and posed for photos wearing our team shirts.
Two hours later, we were packed up and saying our goodbyes as we loaded up our cars and headed home. The sun was setting as I drove down the desolate desert highway, sharing stories and funny moments from the weekend with Anthony, Jessica, and Brian. I reveled in the experience of running the challenging course and with a new group of people whom I felt I had gotten to know incredibly well in the last thirty-six hours. We had only spent a day and a half together but it felt like we had been hanging out for months. I was happy that I could be a part of the team and was looking forward to running with this group of folks again. I was forward to looking at my pictures from the weekend, and reading Catra's memoir. But mostly, I was looking forward to a nice warm bed instead of sleeping in a hoodie, long pants and socks in a sleeping bag on the cold, hard ground.
