Holiday Season Runner Hibernation

I glanced down at my hot cup of coffee, wrapping my hands around it to warm them up, as I sat at a long wooden table near the window.  I had just finished a seven mile run on the Stevens Creek and Bay trails with the Mountain View Area Run Club Sunday morning crowd, with whom I had been running just about every Sunday morning for the last nine months.  The local Starbucks was relatively calm, as Julie, another member of the group sat across from me.  She had finished her run a few minutes ahead me and we were keeping warm inside as we waited for the rest of the group to finish.  After some post run small talk I asked her if she had any races planned for the upcoming year.  "Not right now" she answered, laughing.  "I'm a little burned out on running".  I jokingly gave her with a wide-eyed look before bursting into laughter, but in reality I knew exactly how she felt.  I too have been going through a similar experience.  As much as I love running, with winter setting in, I've been finding it difficult to scrounge together the energy to get out of bed early in the morning to log miles.  My friends and family in my Michigan hometown are most likely rolling their eyes, but there really is such a thing as a California Winter.  We may not have four distinct seasons like the Midwest, but the weather in late December is undeniably different than in late July.  The sun sets earlier in the day, rises later in the morning, and the temperature drops into the mid forties at night and early in the morning.  There are more clouds, more rain, and more wind.  The weather is one factor, but then there's also the holiday season.  Many of us get more days off of work, which makes us instinctively want to rest and sleep in more.  Subconsciously, we know that the end of the year is approaching, which means our minds and bodies are feeling the physical and mental exhaustion of putting hard work into our jobs, personal lives, and our hobbies and interests over the past twelve months.  I went through a similar situation last December and I'll freely admit that some mornings during the last few weeks of the year, it's a straight up battle to get out of bed before work and go for even a three mile run.  And that's with seven hours of sleep.

A few minutes later, some more of our friends drifted into the coffee shop and sat down at the table, having just finished their run.  After hearing that Samantha (Sammy), Garner, Olga, and some of the other members of the group have been experiencing similar sentiments towards running during the holiday season, it put me at ease.  The morning before, myself and another group had congregated at a park in Santa Clara to go for a group run along the Guadalupe River.  Although it was a glorious morning and there was hardly a cloud in the sky as the sun came up, the temperature had dropped into the high thirties overnight, unusually cold for the Bay Area for this time of year.  Only half of the people who RSVP'ed on the Meetup event page showed up.  I've come to realize over the last few years that holiday season runner hibernation, as I've coined it, is quite normal among endurance athletes.  As we sipped our coffee and shared our feelings and stories about lacking energy to run during the holiday season, a sense of relief seemed to spread throughout the group as we realized that none of us were alone in this predicament.  I especially understood Julie's point of view, having completed the California International Marathon three weeks ago, and Sammy's position as well after she trained hard for several months leading up to the Rock N Roll San Jose half marathon.  Their feelings of exhaustion were justified.  Garner on the other hand, despite his year end exhaustion, was still logging two digit mileage during our group runs, much to his credit since he is not doing it for training, but for pure enjoyment.  

Despite the exhaustion that we as runners feel during the final weeks of the year, once the new year kicks in, the proverbial reset button is hit.  Yes it's still cold outside, yes it's still dark in the morning, but the psychological factor has been overturned.  We no longer feel the fatigue of twelve months' worth of hard work.  We no longer feel unmotivated and unfocused.  In my case, it doesn't always happen right on January 1st, and it happens at a different time for all runners, but we know subconsciously that a new year is upon us.  It's time to get after it.  It's time to use the next twelve months to evolve as runners and people.  Some people sign up for races in advance at the beginning of the year as a form of motivation.  Others take it as it comes.  I tend to do a little of both by signing up for races to motivate myself, but also "winging it" throughout the year as a method of creating an element of surprise to keep life interesting.  There is no right or wrong way.  But one thing is for sure; holiday season runner hibernation is a completely normal occurrence that many distance runners contend with during the last few weeks of the year.  While it can feel dismal at times, the good news is that for many of us, once the new year hits, the proverbial clock is reset, and it's time to get back at it.  And we all have that to look forward to! 

      

It's Not Okay

We've all been in this situation before.  For some of us, it goes a little something like this; it's a typical day at the office and we're sitting at our desks in front of our computers working away, or perhaps sitting in a meeting with our colleagues when, out of nowhere, that email pops into our inbox.  Or, from a different perspective, we walk into work and head to the back room to prepare for our shift.  As we're clocking in, we look up at the announcements board and see that flyer plastered on the wall.  We open the email and we read the flyer: Mandatory sexual harassment training on this day at that time.  All employees MUST attend.  So, we reluctantly attend the meeting (because it's mandatory), with the expectation that it will likely be a waste of time, since many of us clearly know what constitutes as harassment and that it's wrong.  I understand why these meetings and training sessions are required in the workplace, but I think it's a shame that we live in a world where these sessions are necessary.  We're supposed to be grown adults.  This shit isn't rocket science.  Don't harass people.  Don't make them feel uncomfortable.  It should be common sense.  You'd think that people would know better, but unfortunately this is not the case.  Even in this day and age, and even after all the stories that have gone viral over the years, sexual harassment, sexism, and sexual abuse are still, to put it bluntly, big fucking problems in our society.  Sorry for the rude word, but it's the truth.

Sadly, these issues are ever present in today's world, including the world of endurance sports.  Over the years I've heard numerous stories from my former wife and female friends about being harassed by men while running and hiking alone.  Even on social media, men have the audacity to make offensive and disgusting comments on girls' photos, which is not only idiotic, because they're making themselves look like complete dirt bags to hundreds of millions of people, but more importantly, it's just plain hurtful.  Several female public figures in the endurance sports community have spoken out about being harassed by men.  Catra Corbett once spoke on social media about some guy on Mount Whitney telling her that she was "inappropriately dressed to summit" in reference to the running skirt that she was wearing, while not saying a word to the men on the trail wearing shorts.  This moron clearly didn't know who he was dealing with.  Catra Corbett has summitted Mount Whitney numerous times and has run over two hundred and fifty ultramarathons.  In "Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail" a novel written by Cheryl Strayed, she discusses her experience of being harassed by two male hunters in the California wilderness while attempting to purify water for drinking.  According to the book, the encounter made her so uncomfortable, she feared for her safety.  There is a section of the novel "Born To Run" where author Chris McDougall recounts a particular year at the Leadville 100-miler where several Tarahumara men participated.  Throughout the race, the men all referred to Ann Trason, who was also running the race, and is arguably the most elite ultrarunner of all time, as "La Brujita" (the little witch) because they were jealous of her talent.  I understand that this is a story, and it could have been exaggerated for entertainment value, but I don't care if these guys are amazing runners.  They shouldn't have acted that way.  And by the way, Ann beat all of those chumps and gave the following statement to the press at the finish line: "Sometimes it takes a woman to bring out the best in a man". 

While these stories are upsetting, what happened in Georgia earlier this month is downright appalling.  For those who don't know the story,  a young female reporter who works for a TV station in Savannah, Georgia was covering live footage of a local community 5K race.  As she stood on the bridge and spoke into the microphone on the side of the road, runners came up behind her waiving at the camera and cheering.  It was all in good fun until some guy ran up behind her, slapped her on the butt, and kept running as if nothing happened.  She was visibly upset and embarrassed, but to her credit, she only paused for a couple of seconds and looked off in shock before continuing to speak to the camera.  The less humanitarian side of me would have loved it if she dropped the microphone, ran after this guy, and beat the living hell out of him for what he did.  But that would not have made this situation any better.  Instead she did the more rational thing, and later that day, she addressed the incident on her Twitter account and hundreds of thousands of people expressed their sympathy and support for her on social media.  Thanks to the video footage of the inappropriate act, which has now been viewed over eleven million times on the internet, and the help of people within the community, authorities were able to identify the man, and he has now been arrested and charged with sexual battery.  Do I believe he deserves what he's getting? Absolutely, 150%.  I have no idea what this guy was thinking about, or why he thought it was okay to do such a thing, but I can't grasp how brazen, foolish, and disgusting that was.  I'd also like to add that this guy is forty-four years old.  Old enough to know better, and almost double the age of the female reporter.  And, to all the idiots out there who are defending him, I suggest you get with the program and wise up to the way the world works.  Stop living in your little fairy tale of a world where you believe he was just "being friendly" and "joking around".  Get over yourself.  What he did was not okay and beyond inappropriate.

Some people may wonder why I feel so strongly about this.  Why do I give a damn about this so much that I would write and publish a blog post about it?  Well, there's a couple of reasons.  The first and simpler reason is I grew up with a lot of awesome women in my life.  These women include my mother, who passed way fourteen years ago and I miss everyday, my younger sister, several girl cousins, several aunts, and two grandmas, at least for part of my life.  So needless to say, I learned very early in life to always be respectful.  Even despite the fact that my former wife and I are no longer together, we still remain on good terms.  The second, and perhaps more complex reason is this;  life is full of obstacles and setbacks.  Living life is overcoming them.  Given what I've been through in my life, this statement could not be more relevant in my situation.  Millions of people around the world share the same sentiment.  We all work hard every day to be get over the struggles in our lives, whatever they may be.  We all work hard to be happy and live our best life.  Nobody.  I repeat, NOBODY should ever get in the way of someone else trying to be happy and enjoy life.  Perpetrators of sexual harassment, sexism, and sexual abuse are putting a significant damper on their victim's happiness level and quality of life.  And, quite frankly, that angers the hell out of me.

The bottom line is we, as a people, need to put a stop to all of this.  These issues have been going on for far too long, and it seems people aren't getting the message.  So I will say this;  anyone, woman or man (because it happens to guys too, it just doesn't get reported as often) who has experienced such treatment at work, while running, hiking, or anywhere else, please speak up.  Share your feelings and your story.  Raise awareness.  Many of these incidents go unreported and a decent percentage of the public likely doesn't know the severity of these issues.  After the race was over the reporter posted the following message on Twitter: "To the man who smacked my butt on live TV this morning: You violated, objectified, and embarrassed me. No woman should EVER have to put up with this at work or anywhere!! Do better."  Well put.  Do Better.  The next time people think about saying or doing something inappropriate to someone of the opposite sex, I would encourage them to stop being impulsive and think about what they're doing.  Think about how this will affect the other person.  What if someone said or did something like that to your mother, daughter, niece, or sister?  If something seems like it's inappropriate, just don't say or do it.  Period.  Be kind to one another.  Support one another.  To put it simply, just don't be a slimy douche bag.  Thank you! 

Holidays (not) in the Sun

Wow, what a trip!  In my pre-vacation post, I outlined the four elements that inspired my visit to London and now that I'm back, although my knowledge is still limited,  I had an amazing time, and I've learned a lot about what it's like to live there and the city's iconic points of interest.  It's time to revisit these four elements with post-vacation thoughts.  Check it out!

The Culture/City

My main goal during my four days in London was to gain at least a basic understanding of the culture and what it's like to live there.  This is what I hope for every time I travel internationally and I always strive to achieve my objective.  With that goal in mind, I opted to rent an apartment through Airbnb in a non-touristy neighborhood called Highbury near Arsenal Stadium.  In addition to choosing this location, I established a rule that I would travel on foot as often as possible.  Walking through the city neighborhoods and observing every day people of several ethnic backgrounds going about their daily lives, along with spending time in the restaurants and pubs was my favorite part of the trip.  I loved listening to locals exchange banter and gossip about their friends and families over meals and pints of beer.  By the time the trip was over, I had my day down to a routine;  I would wake up, take a shower, get ready, head out the door, walk down the road to a cafe and order a traditional English breakfast (which is delicious, by the way!).  After I received some guidance from a friendly girl at a pub on my first night, and observing locals at the cafe on my first morning, I learned the rules of how most cafes and pubs operate.  Not all of them offer table service, but those that do offer it go about it in a slightly different fashion than that of the U.S.  Rather than ask for a bill when you finish your meal, you simply walk up to the register and pay.  Tips are polite, but not expected, and are left in jars near the cash registers rather than on tables.  In addition to the delicious breakfasts and fish & chips at the restaurants, the staff were always kind and welcoming.  After stuffing myself, I would either walk to other neighborhoods and visit the pubs, or catch the subway to Central London and go site seeing.  I would return to my apartment around 4 PM, rest for a couple of hours, then head back out for the evening.  To give an honest portrayal of what I learned in four days about life in London, it would only be fair of me to paint the full picture; the good, the bad, and the hilarious.  London folk are extremely passionate about the Arsenal football club.  This is a great thing because passion shows personality, however, as I found out, that passion comes with a dark side.  On Thursday afternoon I was having pint inside a pub in Camden Town, and although the patrons seemed to be unusually rowdy compared to the crowds at the other pubs, I didn't think much of it.  I walked to the bathroom and saw that the door was propped open with two guys standing outside near the door and about five guys standing inside.  "Okay, whatever, there's a line, no big deal" I thought as I stood behind the two guys outside.  Seconds later, a guy and girl, who were working as bartenders, came walking over and started yelling and banging on the door.  The guys occupying the bathroom slowly emerged, one by one, half full glasses of beer in hand.  Their glasses were promptly confiscated by the staff, and they were ordered to "get the fuck out".  After reluctantly making their way through the pub, they were literally shoved out the door as the girl bartender shouted and called them "fucking assholes".  A couple of minutes later the police walked in.  I forgot I had to pee and instead walked back towards the bar.  "What the hell just happened?" I thought.  It turned out the guys in the bathroom were partaking in the use of cocaine.  One of the other patrons had tipped off the staff on what was going on.  Before that brief episode I was ready to head to the next pub, but this was too entertaining.  Instead, I sat back down, ordered another pint, and watched more ridiculousness unfold as the bartenders continued to cut people off and kick them out.  When I asked if it was always like this, the staff casually responded that sometimes on match days for Aresnal home games things can get "a bit rough".  I was unaware that there was a game that evening and I was beginning to understand now.  Most of the patrons weren't planning on going to the match, they were just using the excitement of the occasion as an excuse to get wasted and coked out at 1 PM on a Thursday afternoon.  "That's crazy" I said as I laughed at the chaotic nature of the situation.  The staff laughed along.  "Welcome to Camden Town" they responded.  I was beginning to understand what they meant.  Camden Town was a recommended place of interest by a co-worker and I spent a decent amount of time there during my trip.  Known for it's lively night life, eclectic pubs, and street vendors, the neighborhood, particularly Camden High street, closely resembles the setting of the Venice Beach and Santa Cruz boardwalks in California, minus the beach, of course.  Amy Winehouse lived in Camden Town and was deeply involved with the neighborhood prior to her death.  Later that night as I walked through Highbury back to my apartment from the subway stop, I passed several pubs that had signs posted on the doors reading "Arsenal Supporters Only" and "Home Fans Only".  In an effort to keep the pubs safe and free of violence on match nights, the staff unfortunately had to resort to turning away fans of visiting teams for fear of fights breaking out.  This is likely due in part to Arsenal's status as being an extremely successful football club and being intensely disliked by other fans, but nevertheless, it was the reality of how things were.  My thoughts were interrupted as I approached a street corner and a passerby near a pub made eye contact with me.  "Hey mate, you sniff?" he asked.  It was one of three times during my trip that I was offered hard drugs.  And when I say "offered" it wasn't in a sugar coated fashion.  Each time, the guys took the straight forward, no bullshit approach to their offers by brazenly asking me if I "sniffed".  "No, I'm good man" I responded as I laughed.  "Alright" he answered back as he resumed walking.  To my relief, all of the guys who offered didn't want any trouble and didn't try to start any drama when I declined.  They were just pushers trying to make a few pounds and weren't out to hurt anybody.

The Music

Whether it's punk, hard rock, jazz, or R&B, there's no music quite like the London sound.  It touches on ground that so many other musicians don't even realize exists. I've always wondered what it was about the city that produced such creative music.  While there is no short or clear answer,  I figured seeing live gigs at pubs would be a great experience.  While exploring Camden Town on Tuesday, I visited the Elephant Head pub.  Sitting at the bar, sipping a pint glass of Camden Hells Ale, I noticed that the advertisement board behind the bar mentioned open mic night every Wednesday beginning at 8:30 PM, so I returned the following evening.  And the artists did not disappoint.  Among the several participants was a guy playing acoustic guitar instrumentals.  His tone was unique and somewhat dark, sounding something like an acoustic version of a Black Sabbath song.  He played open chords and created percussive sounds by strumming muted strings, snapping his fingers, and tapping the hollow, wooden body of his guitar as the chord faded.  Shortly after his set was over, an older woman stepped on stage.  She looked to be about sixty-five years old, wore a multicolored dress, and rocked a dark blue bandana, tied around her short, curly gray hair.  Seeing these types of outfits isn't particularly surprising to me, but what did surprise me was the gig that she performed.  She stepped up to the mic and asked the crowd to clap their hands in rhythm.  We all obliged and clapped in unison at a tempo of about two claps per second.  Once we were all in sync, she busted into a free style rap about living in London, and continued without missing a beat for nearly two minutes before briefly pausing and asking us to "give her another beat".  We did, and she then rapped for another couple of minutes with pre-written lyrics, but explained afterwards that it was "the remix".  Finally, an older gentleman stepped onstage and performed an act with an acoustic guitar.  He played guitar left handed, which is very rarely seen, and as his set progressed, he jumped around on the small stage and finished off by leaning back and raising his guitar towards the ceiling while strumming a major chord.  The crowd clapped with enthusiasm as if if were the encore of a rock concert.  I found out after he stepped off the stage from one of the other patrons that he was seventy-eight years old and had his own Youtube channel.  Later that night, I saw a five-piece blues band rocking the crowd at another pub down the street, and the following night I attended a gig by a four-piece jazz band at the Marquis of Westminster, near Central London.  While listening to the jazz quartet in the bar basement, I noticed there was no bass player, which struck me as odd because up until then, I didn't recall ever seeing a jazz gig without a bass to fill out the sound.  But before long I realized how unique and cool the dynamic was.  In between vocal verses, the guitarist and saxophone player alternated solos and melodies while the other played the harmonies.  It sounded so full that they didn't need a bass player, and it came together wonderfully.  I had never seen live music performances quite like those gigs before.  There was something very profound and unique about it and during the plane ride home I listened to my favorite musicians from London.  Because I had experienced the city and a sample of it's music scene, the songs gave me a new perspective and seemed to speak to me more. 


The Pubs

This portion can partially roll up into the culture/city portion of this post because the pubs play a key role in defining London's culture.  I visited a total of eighteen of them during my trip and they each had their own personality.  Similar to cafes, tipping is polite but not expected, and if patrons prefer to sit at a table rather than the bar, they order their drinks first then proceed to a table, rather than have a staff member wait on them.  In the States, most people don't expect bars to be very crowded during weekday afternoons, however the pubs in London are a different story.  There were people having business meetings over pints, friends hanging out and gossiping, and others like me, who were there solo.  In one instance, I even overhead a professional interview going on as the two men, fully suited up, sipped from their pint glasses in between questions.  Often in the States when people are running errands they might stop for a coffee.  In London, people stop for a pint of beer.  Most pubs also served food, but unlike in the States, they opened at noon and closed at 11 PM or midnight rather than 2 AM, although there are exceptions.  The more pubs I visited, the more I understood the significant role they play in people's everyday lives.  Being in the presence of locals was a really cool experience, and although I knew that once I started talking I would immediately stand out, I engaged with the staff and patrons and listened to their stories.  A guy I talked to at the blues bar was from a smaller city to the north and brand new to London as he had just accepted a job with Amazon.  Another girl working as a bartender was originally from Paris, but had moved to London twelve years earlier and liked it so much, she never left.  It was a trip to hear the locals who had previously visited the States tell me how much they loved California's surf culture, palm trees, and nice weather.     

The Architecture and Sites

While trying to get a taste of life in London, since I was there, I knew it was also important for me to visit the touristy sites that millions of people from other counties visit each year.  Prior to leaving, my HR Manager at work advised me that her friend Dina would be in London at the same time as me and put me in touch with her.  We met in Central London on my second night there, and Dina and her cousin who was traveling with her took me to visit the Tower Bridge and Tower of London.  Seeing photos on Google is one thing, but when I saw these sites in person, I was in awe.  Walking across the London and Tower bridges was truly a cool experience and I loved how lit up and peaceful they were at night.  I returned to Central London the following afternoon to visit other treasures such as Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, and Scotland Yard.  Although Big Ben was covered in scaffolding, the clock was still visible, and despite the rainy weather, I was pleasantly surprised by the architectural beauty of the Parliament buildings, hotels, and Buckingham Palace.  In addition to the historical sites, Central London has numerous bridges that offer splendid views of River Thames, along with several outdoor Christmas markets during the holiday season. 
       

I Don't Want a Holiday in the Sun

2019 has been an amazing year with many firsts for me.  Between work and my life outside of work, there are far too many to list, but here are a few highlights; I finished my first 100-mile ultramarathon, I participated in my first organized cycling tour, I visited Lake Tahoe for the first time, and lost more toenails this year than any other year of my life.  But the year is not over.  If all goes as planned (because if there's anything I've learned in my thirty-three years on this planet, it's that anything can happen), I will have knocked off two more firsts by the time 2019 comes to a close; visiting London and traveling internationally on my own. 

I love traveling internationally.  I've only visited five countries, so I'm not stopping there of course.  As I made my way through what has been quite an eventful and busy year, I pondered the thought of taking an international trip.  The last time I did so was in summer of 2017 and it was time to make it happen again.  But where to?  And when?  Once I finished Tahoe Rim Trail 100, I spent basically the whole month of August paddle boarding on Vasona Lake, hiking Mission Peak, meeting new people, and of course running and working.  When September came, it hit me that 2019 was quickly coming to an end, and if I was going to follow through on my plans to travel internationally, it was crucial that I figure out where and when before time ran out.  By mid-September I had my answer.  I would travel solo and spend four days in London over the Thanksgiving break.

Why London you might ask?  Well, in short, London has been on my travel bucket list for quite some time.  It has been described as one of the most visited, most influential, and most beautiful cities in the world.  Like any major city, it has it's issues, but I've very rarely heard people speak negatively of London.  Some people travel to other countries specifically to visit the sites, take organized tours, and drift through museums.  In doing so, I feel they spend most of their time among other tourists and have minimal interaction with locals.  I like to dig deeper than that.  In my opinion, when traveling abroad, it is, of course, cool to visit places of interest, but my main objective is to come back to the States with a little more knowledge.  A better understanding of the culture, day to day life, and character of the place I visited.  Here are some of the characteristics about London that inspired my upcoming visit:

The Culture

I live in California, which is arguably the most culturally diverse state in the U.S.  My interest in other cultures stems from my experiences growing up in Michigan in close proximity to several diverse communities, mainly Jewish and Middle Eastern.  Moving to Chicago and California has allowed me to expand my knowledge of other cultures considerably, but traveling to five countries has taken it to a different level.  Although hundreds of different languages are heard in London every day, English is the the most recognized and most widely spoken language.  From the perspective of an American traveling alone to a different country, this factor certainly works in my favor, but even so, London has a rich culture that differs greatly from that of California.  More on this when I return since my knowledge of English culture is limited, but I can't wait to learn more.  

The Music

Some amazing music has come out of London over the years.  Between the raw energy of the Sex Pistols, the mind altering instrumentation and distinctive vocals of Amy Winehouse and David Bowie, the eclectic style of Oasis (they're actually from Manchester, but they've recorded and mixed a decent amount of their music in London), and many other musicians, there is no doubt that London has had a tremendous creative impact on countless people.  I feel like the Spice Girls should get an honorable mention since I secretly liked them as a kid, but refused to admit it.  I hope to see some live music in the pubs, but what I'm really hoping for is to see first hand what it is about London that produces such musical creativity.  

The Pubs

Yes, something as simple as pubs.  There are several here in Silicon Valley, but from what I understand, the pubs in London are a different scene.  They are frequented not just for the purpose of socializing and throwing down pints of beer, but for a variety of other activities, such as having meals, getting coffee, even holding business meetings.  Based on my pre-travel research so far, a majority of pubs in London serve up traditional English dishes including fish and chips, bangers and mash (sausage and mashed potatoes), Yorkshire pudding, and hearty English breakfasts.  According to my buddy Adam, "Scott and I hit thirty-three pubs in London in three and a half days.  You can beat that!".  We'll see about that, but I'll do my best.  Again, more on this when I return.  

The Architecture and Sites

I plan to visit places like Big Ben, the Tower of London, the Tower Bridge, Buckingham Palace, etc.  As I mentioned above, it's cool to visit these sites, but it's not my primary reason for wanting to visit London.  However, the buildings there have a very beautiful and unique architectural design, so it's important that I take some time out of my trip to admire and appreciate these historical gems.   

I hope to have a lot more to write about once I arrive back in California, but until then, these are some pre-vacation thoughts.  The title of this post is not only the opening line of a rad song, but it is literally meant to allude to the weather outlook in London for next week:  Rain and chilly temperatures.  This will be a nice contrast to the sunny weather that I'm used to in California, but also not so nice for obvious reasons.  Rain or shine, I'll be out and about.  The title also alludes to the nature of this trip and what I hope to get out of it, more in a metaphorical way.  A few people asked me if I was traveling to London to do a run of some sort.  Given what most people know about me, it's a perfectly valid question, and the answer is yes and no.  Yes, I will likely run a few miles in the mornings before I start my day, but that will be it.  Unlike most of the trips I take, this one will not be centered around running.  More to come afterwards because I don't know exactly what is in store for me, and I can't wait to find out!    

  

  

  

   

Ragnar Napa Valley 2019: An Unexpected Turn Of Events

There's a lot of things I love about running, but the thing I love the most is perhaps the unity.  Running brings people together in amazing ways.  It's great to see people of all ages, all ethnic groups, and all walks of life coming together and bonding over a simple physical activity.  One Sunday morning, the Mountain View Area Run Club, a local group I run with on weekends, orchestrated a collaboration run with the San Jose Vietnamese Run Club.  I had so much fun meeting the members of SJVRC, I suggested to the group leaders that we do more collaboration runs.  But running groups aren't the only organizations bringing people together.  Sanctioned races, depending on their size and level of fame, sometimes attract people from all over the globe to share a common goal of reaching the finish line.  One race series that is known for uniting people is Ragnar.  What is Ragnar you might ask?  It's a series of long distances relay races held all over the country, most of them about two-hundred miles in length, in which teams of twelve take turns running individually.  There are thirty-six segments and each team member runs three times.  That's the website's definition.  My definition is: twelve people, friends, strangers, or both, connecting with each other by hanging out in a van together for thirty-six hours with some running in between.

One Thursday morning in late October, as I was getting out of the shower, my phone buzzed.  When I checked, I saw that I had an unread message on WhatsApp from my friend Anthony.  In roughly twenty-four hours, he and I, along with ten other people, were going to be toeing the start line of Ragnar Napa Valley in San Francisco and embarking on a two day and one night adventure of Ragnar-ing, as I like to call it.  We would go north through Marin County, to Petaluma, to Santa Rosa, turn around in Healdsburg, then head back south before turning at some juncture and heading east to the finish line in Napa.  In an effort to streamline communication among the group members, Anthony had started a WhatsApp thread with the entire group.  I opened the message.  "Hey guys, should we be concerned about this Kincade Nor Cal fire?".  Fire? What fire? I thought.  But once I keyed "Kincade fire" into Google, I learned that a wildfire had ignited in the middle of the night up in Sonoma County very close to the race course.  Upon reading the news, we all began checking the Ragnar Napa website and Facebook group, which advised that the Race Directors would make the decision later on in the afternoon as to whether or not the race would still happen.  We checked throughout the day and by 1:00 PM, sure enough, we received an email that the event was cancelled.  With the air quality in the Sonoma wine country deteriorating, and the fire spreading onto the course, the Race Directors had no choice but to call the race off and issue refunds to all the participants.  There was nothing that anyone could do about it, but it was disappointing situation, nonetheless.  Some runners had been looking forward to this event for several months and people had traveled by plane from all over the country to participate.  Despite our unfortunate situation, our team decided to meet in San Francisco that night for dinner, as originally planned.  When I arrived at the restaurant later on, I quickly spotted Anthony and some of the other team members near the entrance.  Once the rest of the team showed up, we were seated in a large space in the corner.  As I sat among the group sipping a beer and enjoying a top notch Margherita pizza, I got to know our team:

Anthony: Our team captain and ring leader, Anthony is a friend and old co-worker of mine from the Los Angeles area.  We bonded over our shared passion for running while working together at Cornerstone, and we've since ran several Ragnar races together.  Although his physique more closely resembles that of a linebacker than a scrawny distance runner, running has played a prominent role in his life for several years and he participates in at least one Marathon every year.    

Travis:  Travis and I met each other during Ragnar Los Coyotes the previous fall when his girlfriend Alyssa, another former co-worker of mine, recruited me to run with her team alongside Travis, Anthony, and a handful of their friends.  Strong, fast, and born into a military family, Travis sets a rule for himself that he always follows when it comes to distance running; "I run fast enough to the point where I feel a little uncomfortable.  That's how I know I'm pushing hard enough".

    

John C: A Software Engineer, and former co-worker of Anthony's at Cornerstone, John has done several long distance multi-day hikes through the mountains of Europe and has aspirations to someday run an ultra.  I told him I recommend giving it a try!

Kristen: A co-worker of Anthony's, and the one responsible for giving our team the epic name of "Pour Decisions", Kristen is originally from Virginia and moved to the Los Angeles area three years prior.  Loud, silly, and exuberant, she seemed to be skilled at making everyone around her laugh and enjoy themselves. 

Tony and Kim: Unlike most of the team who had traveled from Southern California to participate in Ragnar, Tony and Kim, a boyfriend/girlfriend couple, had flown in all the way from Minnesota.  We had gotten in touch with them through the Ragnar Facebook page and quickly added them to our lineup when we realized they were looking for a team to join.  Kim keeps busy working as a teacher and Tony as a Technician, but they make plenty of time to do the things they love, and aspire to golf and run a race in every U.S. state.  Coincidentally, they reside in the same rural Minnesota town that I will be traveling to in January to run a forty-mile winter ultra in St. Croix State Park.

Patrick:   Also a Minnesota resident and co-worker of Kim's, he flew back home after he found out the race was cancelled, so unfortunately I didn't get a chance to meet him.

Wendy:  Originally from the Bay Area and now residing in Seattle, we also found Wendy on the Facebook page while searching for team members.  When she found out the race was cancelled she decided stay in San Jose for the remainder of the weekend to spend some much needed time with her family, so unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to meet her.

Matt:  Originally from Buffalo, New York, Matt was the only other member of our team living in the Bay Area besides me.  He had gotten to know Anthony while working at Cornerstone before moving to San Francisco and has participated in several road races. 

Ed: Another Cornerstone employee and co-worker of Anthony's, Ed was not only supposed to be running Ragnar with us this weekend, he was also one of the lucky runners who would be participating in the New York City Marathon the following weekend, which was going to be his second 26.2 mile journey.

John:  He was sitting way at the other side of the table, so unfortunately all I got out of him was that his name was also John, and that he was a co-worker of Anthony's.  I think...

After dinner, the group dispersed for the evening and I told everyone I'd see them on Saturday night before heading back to my parked car.  Anthony had rented a house in Fairfield through Airbnb for an overnight stay on Saturday night after the race, and since nearly everyone in the group decided to keep their original returning flights to their respective hometowns, a handful of us would be spending Saturday night in Fairfield and returning home on Sunday morning.  Even though I had taken the day off work on Friday, I went into the office to get some stuff done, and when Saturday night rolled around, I drove up to Napa to meet the group at a local steakhouse for dinner. The group, which consisted of Anthony, Travis, Kristen, Tony, Kim, Ed, and John C, told me stories of their adventures over the last couple of days, running along the San Francisco Bay, exploring the Bay Area, and visiting local breweries.  Over a couple of bottles of wine and delicious food, the eight of us shared lots of laughs and stories before making our way to the house we rented.  When Travis and I from a beer run, we found the group huddled in the mini theater upstairs trying to get the giant TV to work.  The host left instructions, but after an hour of frustration, we gave up and decided to play a game instead.  Being a board game enthusiast, I thought for sure Travis had brought a game along, but when it turned out he hadn't, we decided to play a makeshift version of Codenames by ripping a few pieces of paper into twenty-five squares and laying them out on the floor in board game format.  After a fun and amusing night of beer drinking, red wine spilling on the carpet, me resorting to cheating at Codenames because my team kept losing, lots of laughs, and a whole decanter of wine nearly being tipped over, I finally went to bed shortly after 2:00 AM.  When the sun cracked the horizon over the hills outside by bedroom window the next morning, I opened my eyes and felt as if I were sleeping in an icebox.  The air conditioner was cranking and I cocooned myself in the blankets trying to keep warm.  I eventually rose from my bed and stepped into the hallway, looking over the railing near the stairs as the house filled with orange light through the windows from the sunrise.  Anthony emerged from his room a few minutes later.  "Morning dude.  Why is it so cold in here?"  He looked at me and began laughing.  "You know how you and I were trying to turn on the A/C last night and couldn't figure out the thermostat?  Well, I guess kinda figured it out after all..."  I walked into the theater room and saw the wreckage from the night before; a deflated air mattress, several empty alcohol containers, and ripped up pieces of paper leftover from Codenames.  "Who was sleeping on the air mattress?" I asked.  Anthony just shrugged.  I headed downstairs towards the kitchen and saw Ed sound asleep on the floor wrapped in a blanket.  When he awoke, he explained that he couldn't inflate the air mattress, so he tried sleeping on the downstairs couch but it was too uncomfortable, so he finally just passed out on the floor.  Once the rest of the crew woke up, we made a homemade breakfast together while episodes of Goosebumps and Prank Encounters played on the living room TV and a fire roared in the fireplace.  Eventually, our check out time came, and by 12:30 PM we had said our goodbyes, and I headed back home, while the rest of the team either went to the airport or killed some time exploring the area before their flights departed later on.

As I said in the beginning, running brings people together in amazing ways.  I would like to add that after this experience, it also brings people together in unexpected ways.  When I stepped into the shower on Thursday morning I felt excited about how this running adventure would bring the group together.  But later that day when I found out the race was cancelled, that excitement dissipated.  Although I would still be spending time with the team, I doubted that I would get what I was hoping for out of the experience; a chance to form new friendships with a diverse group of people through running.  How could the bond form if there was no running?  The simple physical activity that brings people together.  The key element of this adventure.  I knew it wouldn't be the same, but I remained optimistic throughout the experience, as did the rest of the team.  As I drove home that day, I reflected on the fun weekend I had.  I realized that although the weekend took an unexpected turn and we didn't end up running, this group of people from several different walks of life managed to bond and connect.  We may have all initially gathered in the San Francisco Bay Area with running being the highlight of the weekend, but in the end, what really brought us together was having dinner, drinking, playing games, cooking, and spending time together as a group.  "You have seven new friends now" I told Kristen at the house on Saturday night.  Once everyone had parted ways for good later on that night, we messaged each other through the WhatsApp thread promising that we would get together again.  Tony and Kim encouraged us all to visit Minnesota to run a Ragnar race that would be taking place out there next year.  Through it all, I had gotten exactly what I hoped for out of this weekend, but in an unexpected way.  I knew I would always remember this Ragnar experience.  I'd also like to add that even with my blatant, over the top cheating at Codenames towards the end of the night, we still never won a friggin' game...

The Role Of A Pacer: Rio Del Lago Edition

My office, situated near downtown Mountain View in California's Silicon Valley, has a headcount of approximately forty people and just about everyone has some degree of knowledge of my love for endurance sports and adventure.  While some know me as merely a "runner", others have a stronger understanding of just how nuts I can be when it comes to my life outside of work.  My co-worker Hannah falls into the latter category.  "You have any fun plans this weekend?" she asked as I filled my water bottle in the kitchen.  "I'm pacing two of my buddies at a 100-miler in Auburn" I answered.  "Wow!  What does a pacer do?"  For me, it's hard to give a short answer to this question for people to really understand what a pacer does.  The previous summer I had paced my friend JC at a 100-miler in Big Bear Lake.  It was my first time pacing and his first 100-miler, but he finished strong and I learned first hand what the role of a pacer entails.  I didn't want to bore Hannah to death with a lengthy explanation, so I simply said "basically, I just run with them for thirty miles of the race and make sure they're okay, that they don't go off course, and that they're eating and drinking enough."  The day before, it was a typical Thursday afternoon as I sat at my desk, until a Facebook message appeared on my phone.  It was from my friend Sheny from the Los Angeles area.  She filled me in on her plan to drive up to Auburn with her sister and some of her friends that weekend to crew for three of our friends at the Rio Del Lago 100-miler.  "Tony needs a pacer" she said.  "One of his pacers can't make it and if you could help out, that would be amazing".  It was a busy time at work, and I would have to find a few hours sometime during the weekend to crack open my laptop and crunch some numbers for our deadline driven month end close.  But I couldn't pass this opportunity up.  I graciously accepted, and was told that I would be pacing not only Tony, but also his brother Gus for a thirty mile stretch of the race.

The next morning during my drive to Auburn, I utilized Rio Del Lago's online tracker to monitor Tony and Gus's progress.  They had started the race at 5:00 in the morning and when I left the Bay Area at 9:30, they were somewhere around the twenty-three mile mark.  They were throwing down an eleven-minute pace and I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to keep up with them.  "Man, I could screw this up badly" I laughed to myself.  My anxiety was driven by the spur of the moment decision to make this trip, the possibility of Tony and Gus having to wait for me if I arrived late to Overlook, the possibility of having an "off day", and potentially not being able to keep up with their impressive pace.  "What if they drop me four miles into it?" I thought.  But the opportunity to help my friends complete a 100-miler and the thought of spending quality time after not seeing them for quite a long time was enough to mitigate my fear.  Once I arrived, I parked my car on the street near Overlook Park, made my preparations for the journey ahead, and walked over to the main parking lot.  The Rio Del Lago 100-miler passes through Overlook Park two times throughout the race; at mile forty-four, and again at mile seventy-four.  My pacing duties would begin here at mile forty-four and conclude thirty miles later, when we returned.  Between those two junctures would be long stretches of fire road, single track trail, technical hills, beautiful mountain wilderness, a few aid stations, pain, joy, and hopefully, no major emergencies or meltdowns.  But I was ready, just in case.  As I entered the park and made my way towards the course, I was greeted by Sheny and the rest of the crew as they were setting up a small outpost complete with chairs and small tables stocked with plenty of snacks and drinks for the guys when they rolled in.  A digital clock rested off to the side of the trail at the crest of the hill that we were on as runners made their way into the small dwelling of canvas tents and race crews.  Once I checked in with a race official and received my pacer bib, I got more acquainted with the crew while we waited for Tony, Gus, and Nelson to arrive.  Sheny and her sister Corina, or Cori as we call her, introduced me to Gus's girlfriend Mishelle, Nelson's girlfriend Kat, and their friends Diana and Jerry, who had all come up from Southern California to help get Tony, Nelson, and Gus to the finish line.  There was a lot of positive energy in the air and everyone seemed to be in good spirits.  Eventually, Nelson crested the hill and made his way over to our area.  Tony and Gus arrived shortly after.  All three of them took a seat in the chairs as we greeted them and brought them provisions.  To my delight, they all seemed to be holding themselves together quite well.  A lot can happen in forty-four miles, and the guys looked fresh and were feeling good overall.  The plan was for Jerry to pace Nelson all the way to the finish line, and when I returned to Overlook Park with Tony and Gus at mile seventy-four, Cori, who was Tony's girlfriend, would pace him to the finish line, and Diana would do the same for Gus.  After some rest and regrouping, the guys made their final preparations for the next leg of the journey, and Nelson and Jerry took off down the path.  Soon after, Tony said he was going to start walking, and Gus and I departed about ten minutes after, around 3:00 PM.  As we ran down the trail, Gus in front, me closely behind, I admired the surroundings.  Much of the stretch that I would be running with Tony and Gus would traverse the Western States trail and Quarry road, following a very similar course to the Way To Cool 50K and American River 50-miler.  Gus explained that the first eighteen miles of the course had been on relatively flat bike path, which allowed he and Tony to run a brisk pace during that stretch.  However, this next section would be on trails with some technical hills.  That, factored in with already having run fifty miles created an element of uncertainty.  You just never know what could happen.  Eventually we caught up with Tony and followed some rolling hills down to the aid station at No Hands Bridge.  It was ten and a half miles to the next aid station at Auburn Trail Lakes, so I made sure that the guys had enough nourishment as I filled my water bottles.  Soon after departing from No Hands Bridge, we crossed highway forty-nine, which deposited us onto Quarry road, a long stretch of fire road that we would follow for the next several miles.  The non-technical and more gentle terrain allowed the three of us to enjoy the scenery of the Sierra foothills, and engage in conversation.  As is the case with most ultrarunners and their pacers, we shared stories and learned more about each other.  Tony and Gus were both born in El Salvador, and grew up there until their parents moved the family to the States during their youth to Texas, and California shortly after.  They talked about the challenges they faced as two young Salvadoran kids adapting to life the U.S. by learning a new language and growing accustomed to a new culture.  Gus went on to tell me that despite he and Tony being ten years apart in age, they had always been close brothers, and that it was Tony that introduced him to ultrarunning.  At the time he began running he weighed close to three-hundred pounds and in the last few years, running ultras had allowed him to lose almost half of his body weight.  As Gus and I made our way down the trail, Tony followed closely behind.  "How's it going Tony?" I asked.  When I didn't hear a response I turned around and laughed when I saw him holding a large Ziploc bag full of potato chips in one hand and stuffing his face with the other. "I'm good, just need some salt" he answered.  As we approached Main Bar, the junction dumped us onto a single track trail with Tony in front, me in the middle, and Gus behind.  Despite being only eleven miles into it, I was happy to be part of this experience and started to become loopy.  We would have long moments where no words were exchanged, during which I would break the silence with ridiculous comments about being happy to be the meat of the Tony and Gus sandwich and how were the TLG train (Tony, Liam, Gus).  As we ascended a hill, we came across a runner vomiting off to the side of the trail "That's good, get it all out" her pacer told her as she staggered back onto the course.  "Nice work guys, you got this" we said as we ran by.  "Dude, that was Amanda!" Tony said once we were out of hearing range.  Unbeknownst to me, he was referring to the girl's pacer and went on to explain that she was a professional ultrarunner from Utah who came in as the fourth place female at Western States the year before.  "Gus, I think we're going to go up Goat Hill" Tony said as we made our way up a series of switchbacks. 

The sun had just fallen completely below the horizon when we rolled into the Auburn Trail Lakes aid station around 6:45 PM.  Tony and Gus took a seat in the camping chairs behind the tables and changed into warmer clothes while I brought them food and refilled their water bottles.  Ten and a half miles is an unusually long distance between aid stations in a 100-miler, so Auburn Trial Lakes was a welcoming sight, with tables stocked with quesadillas, PB&J sandwiches, chips, cookies, hot broth, and friendly, helpful volunteers.  After a quick respite at Auburn Trail Lakes, we continued onward.  The guys were holding themselves together quite well, and Tony, although a bit shaken, remained determined.  It was now very dark as the TLG train made their way along the rolling trail.  Running on trails during the day is one thing, but things get a lot more interesting when nighttime kicks in.  A sense of tunnel vision sets in, and your whole world is confined to the light of your headlamp.  In my experience, running on trails at night has created situations where my senses are unusually acute, and any little movement or sound immediately catches my attention.  Therefore, I become easily startled.  As we rounded a corner, we heard a rustling in the shrubs off to the side of the trail.  I turned my head abruptly to the left, and in the beam of my headlamp, I saw a runner relieving herself in the brush.  "Sorry!" she exclaimed as she laughed.  "All good!" I answered.  "We thought you were an animal".  Or at least I did.  Whether they were less startled by abrupt noises in the wilderness at night, or just too tired to care, Tony and Gus weren't phased by the encounter.  "I think we're going to hit Goat Hill soon" Tony said.  "Yeah, I'm surprised we haven't hit it yet" Gus answered.  The guys had made some references to "Goat Hill" throughout the race and now I was becoming curious.  "It's a grind, but it's not too long in mileage" they explained when I asked for more details.  As we made our way over a hill, the trail made an abrupt right hand turn, and began a steep climb into darkness.  "Ah, here we go!" Tony said.  "Is this it you guys?" I asked.  "This is the infamous 'Goat Hill' you guys have been talking about? This better be as awesome as you guys have built it up to be.  I have high expectations" I said jokingly as we began our ascent.  They weren't kidding when they said it was a grind.  The climb was about three quarters of a mile long, but the grade was about twenty percent.  Or, said another way, it was steep as shit.  "Nice! Goat Hill did not disappoint" I said as we crested the climb.  All three of us broke into laughter as we continued down the winding trail, happy that we had conquered the tough climb.  As the miles continued on, Tony had become very quiet.  He kept moving at a brisk pace, but it seemed that something was strangely off.  "Tony, how's it going?" I asked.  But I didn't get a response and he just shrugged his shoulders as if to say "Dude, I don't know".  I was becoming mildly concerned.  I pulled up along side him, put my hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the face.  "Hey man, you good?" I asked.  He smiled and nodded his head.  I knew that he was going to need to regroup at the next aid station, the junction where the trail crosses highway forty-nine, which was probably less than a mile ahead.  "You got this" I told him convincingly.     

Soon enough, the lights of the aid station came into view, much to our relief.  Police cars with flashing lights were parked along the side of the desolate highway and police officers guided runners across the road to the aid station.  Upon arrival, Tony immediately took a seat and Gus and I removed his shoes, massaged his legs, and fed him hot soup and Coca-cola.  Clearly the mounting distance was taking a toll on him, but after a few minutes of being off his feet and nourishing himself, he began to come back to life.  There is a notorious saying that is common among ultrarunners at aid stations known as "beware of the chair".  Being off your feet for a few minutes at an aid station can be a necessary relief sometimes, but if runners get too comfortable, it can be very difficult to get back up continue.  The volunteers were friendly and dedicated to taking care of runners, but they were also focused on keep us moving.  As we departed the aid station, it seemed as though Tony's energy had been at least partially restored.  White Christmas lights lined the first hundred yards of the trail as we made our exit and disappeared back into the midnight wilderness.  We had intermittently ran with other pacers and runners over the last several miles, but we now found ourselves alone on the trail once again.  That is until we saw lights from two runners about a hundred feet ahead coming straight towards us.  Tony stopped dead in his tracks.  "Wait, it's that way" he said pointing to the right.  Gus and I paused, and sure enough, the trail had split into a Y shape, and we glanced over to the right as one of the many orange florescent ribbons that had been marking the course appeared on a tree branch on the other path.  "Hey guys, we went the wrong way" we heard a voice call out as the two runners approached us.  The five of us made the short traverse across the grass and onto the correct path.  The duo turned out to be another runner and pacer, and despite taking the wrong path, they remained determined and energetic.  Knowing that Tony was coherent enough to realize that we had almost gone the wrong way brought Gus and I a sense of relief.  We soon found ourselves alone on the trail again,  but the comfort of knowing that we only had a couple of miles left before arriving back at No Hands Bridge pulled us into an up zone.  We felt more energized and engaged in buoyant conversation as we hammered along, until I noticed something peculiar.  "Hey guys, are we good?  I haven't seen a ribbon in forever".  There was a brief moment of silence.  "I think so" Gus finally said.  "There hasn't been any other turns since we saw those two girls coming back the other way".  He had a point but still, we were all alone and it had been at least a good mile since we'd seen a ribbon marking the course.  When ten more minutes passed by and we still hadn't encountered the florescent glow of a course ribbon, the guys had me run ahead in search of one.  Just when I began to feel legitimately concerned, a bright, shiny ribbon appeared off to the side of the trail in the trees.  "Guys! we're good!" I called out with delight.  This triggered flashbacks to my experience at Tahoe Rim Trail 100 earlier this year when I began hallucinating in the middle of the night and was convinced that I was going the wrong way although in reality, everything was perfectly fine.  Gus and Tony had not crossed into the hallucination phase by this point, but who knew what could happen later on. 

When we arrived at the No Hands Bridge aid station we were greeted by enthusiastic volunteers and there was a large crowd of runners and pacers gathered around the food tents.  As we hobbled down the approach, Cori and Mishelle emerged from the crowd.  This instantly lifted Gus and Tony's spirits and I think, especially for Tony, seeing Cori in that moment was crucial in boosting his morale.  After refilling their water bottles, chowing down on some hot food, and a quick rub down, the guys were ready to continue.  Mishelle helped Gus make his final preparations before departing to the next checkpoint, and Cori joined the three of us for the four-mile stretch from No Hands Bridge back to Overlook Park.  At that point, my work would be done, and Diana and Cori would pace the guys through the night and to the finish line.  As we continued onward, we filled Cori in on how things were going, shared some laughs, and before long, the hustle and bustle of Overlook Park was upon us.  As our outpost that we had been at thirty miles before came into view, Gus and Tony wrapped themselves in warm blankets and took a seat in the chairs, as I congratulated them on their progress thus far.  "These guys are doing great.  Hopefully they didn't save all the puking and hallucinating for you guys" I told Cori and Diana jokingly.  All things considered, things had gone well, and I was confident that both Tony and Gus would finish strong.  I would have loved to have stuck around to see them finish, but it was after 1:00 AM, and I had to get back home to get some sleep for the busy work week ahead.  The guys and I embraced in a big hug and I told them I'd be tracking them the rest of the way.  After bidding the team farewell,  I made the wobbly walk back to my car and hit the freeway, bound for home.  During the ride I reflected on the experience and thought about what it really means to be a pacer.  To me, it's not just about being there for your runner.  It's not just about making sure they finish the race.  It's about friendship and connection.  The experience is just as much about hanging out and spending quality time with friends as it is making sure they finish.  These are the kinds of experiences that create special bonds within the ultrarunning community and maintain strong friendships that last a lifetime.  When I awoke the next morning, Nelson had just finished, and shortly after, Gus and Tony crossed the finish line in just under twenty nine hours.  I couldn't have been more proud of them and I was grateful to Cori, Mischelle, Kat, Sheny, Jerry and Diana for being amazing pacers and crew members.  Congratulations Tony, Gus, and Nelson, and way to be a kick-ass crew, Sheny, Cori, Mischelle, Diana, Kat, and Jerry!  One team, one dream. 

Winter Is Complicated

One morning this past February I was making coffee in our kitchen at work when one of my co-workers came strolling in.  On this particular day her typically bubbly personality was overridden by a glum and jaded demeanor.  "What's wrong?" I asked.  "I hate this weather" she said as she rolled her eyes.  It was after all, a chilly and wet morning in Mountain View.  It had been an unusually wet winter and this was our third consecutive day with steady rain and the temperature barely cracking fifty-five degrees.  I was empathetic for a moment, but then I remembered all the winters I endured living in Michigan and Chicago.  "Oh, come on.  This rain is making it more green outside, and rain means lots of snow in the mountains" I replied, trying to sound optimistic.  Although she somewhat agreed with my sentiment, she promptly proclaimed her love for the warm, sunny weather that Silicon Valley receives during the summer months.  "It's better than where I'm from" I continued.  "You think this is bad, try living with snow, cloudy skies, and temperatures that barely crack the freezing mark for four months out of the year".  "Oh, God" she replied laughingly.  "There's no way I could do it".  I've gotten this same response from several other native Californians, and I myself occasionally wonder how I was able to suffer through those Midwest winters for so many years.

My relationship with the snow and cold weather is about as complicated and love/hate as it can get.  Winter in the Midwest is not holly and jolly all the time like in the movies.  Don't get me wrong I love Christmas, Hanukkah, and all the other holidays during the winter season and there's no denying that the snow and cold plays a key role in adding flavor to the festivities.  Think of how many holiday songs there are about winter wonderland and dashing through the snow.  It's part of the holiday spirit, and it would be ideal if it showed up for a couple of weeks during the holidays and then disappeared.  But it doesn't work like that.  During my time growing up in Michigan and living in Chicago during my pre-California years as an adult, winter never went away after the holiday festivities died down;  it lingered all the way until mid to late March, and although it was fun during the holidays, it quickly lost it's jolliness once New Years was over.  Imagine having to bundle up in a heavy coat, shoes, and socks just to do something like go to your car to get something.  Or how about having no electricity for five days because a snow storm damaged your power lines?  Or how about having to go outside in the morning ten minutes before leaving for work or school to start your car and let it warm up so by the time you leave it's barely warm enough so you won't freeze your ass off during the ride?  Or how about having to spend five minutes scraping ice and snow off your car windows so you can see while you're driving?  And let's not forget spending up to two hours shoveling your sidewalk and driveway after a snowstorm and having school called off because the roads are too icy.  To all the native Californians reading this: Yes, this is how it really is!  When I went away to college at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo things were even more gnarly.  Due to it's proximity to Michigan's west coast, Kalamazoo gets hit with lake effect snow coming off Lake Michigan.  I didn't think there was anywhere in the world that was colder and more snowy than Michigan.  Then I moved to Chicago when I was twenty-two.  And man, was I wrong.  I loved living in Chicago, but their winters are on whole other level.  In addition to lake effect snow, the constant winds coming off Lake Michigan create a ridiculously strong wind chill factor.  I learned quickly during my first winter there that I had foolishly underestimated how cold it can get.  People have described Chicago as having "two seasons: winter and July" and have referred to Chicago winters as "never ending".  One morning during my commute to work on the blue line train, I was reading an article in the Chicago RedEye in which the author wrote "our winters suck, but we tolerate them charmingly".  "No we don't!  Not all of us" I said to myself out loud.  Another thing I found distasteful was all the people who walked their dogs and instead of throwing away their poo bags, they would bury them in the snow banks along the sides of the streets.  The real fun would come in late winter when the snow was melting and there would be bags of dog shit everywhere.  Not everyone shared my sentiment about winter.  Most notably, my two colleagues Adina and Tanja, who sat in close proximity to me at work.  Although Tanja didn't necessarily love winter, she generally thought it was pleasant and accepted it as being part of Chicago's four distinct seasons.  Adina, on the other hand, once said "call me a freak, but I love this.  I hope we get snowed in".  Nevertheless, both of them put up with my constant griping during the winter months for three years, for which I'll always be grateful.  One day in February of 2011, the National Weather Service advised that they were expecting two feet of snow to fall over the next couple of days as a heavy storm passed through.  "Yeah right" I thought.  "It doesn't snow like that here".  They weren't exaggerating.  The storm ripped through and dumped just over twenty inches of snow in the city in less than twenty-four hours.  I woke up the next morning in total disbelief.  Forget going to work.  Chicago's typically efficient commuter trains were barely functional and completely overcrowded.  "My move to Los Angeles can't come soon enough"  I thought.  I sat on the couch, opened my laptop, and continued my ongoing hunt for jobs in Los Angeles in a desperate attempt to get out of this frozen hell and live my California dream.

Although winter wasn't my favorite season in the Midwest, I did what I could to make the best of it.  I chose to adopt the "when life gives you lemons" mentality and enjoy it as much as I could.  As a kid, I loved riding my bike, swimming, and playing tennis and baseball in the summer.  When winter rolled along, I enjoyed bowling as an indoor activity, but the winter also presented a different brand of outdoor fun.  Once the snow started falling, my friends and I would spend weekend days and evenings having snowball fights, playing on the snowbanks, and sledding down the hill at the local park until we got too cold.  One day when I was ten, my parents' friends Gale and Gina, who I respectively refer to as Uncle Gale and Aunt Gina, came over to our house and Uncle Gale asked me out of the blue if I wanted to go skiing with him that weekend.  Even though I had never skied before, I agreed to join.  All I knew about skiing was what I had seen in Dumb and Dumber, which was my favorite comedy movie of all time, and still is today.  I watched that excerpt of the movie (and laughed a ton) a handful of times in anticipation for my first skiing adventure.  Although he was an accomplished skier, Uncle Gale had the patience to spend the day on the bunny hill with me at Mount Holly while I learned how to shred.  Despite causing a pile up on the tow rope and falling quite a bit, I managed to get the hang of it and when it was time to go home I didn't want to leave.  I was having too much fun.  The day I learned how to downhill ski was game-changing for me and from then on, I went as often as I could.  In addition to sledding, I now had skiing, and I always looked forward to it when I had the opportunity to go.  A few years later I decided to abandon skiing in favor of snowboarding, and although my tailbone was so sore that first day that I could barely sit down, it quickly became my favorite winter sport, and I've been doing it ever since.  I eventually joined "ski club", which was an eight-week program through school where we would go skiing after school at Mount Holly every Wednesday night.  We would get on the bus and head to the ski hill, shred for four hours while having a free meal in the lodge, then head back to school on the bus around 9 PM and our parents would pick us up.  During my freshman year at Western, there was a slope outside of my dorm building that descended into a valley.  My friends and I built a small jump out of snow on the hill, and we'd sometimes go off it after having too much to drink, waking up the next morning hungover and sore from landing improperly.  On cold winter weekend nights, before beginning our walk to a house party, we would always tell each other to "put on your liquid long johns".  Meaning, just get drunk, and you won't be able to feel how cold it really is outside.  Because I lived in the city, I didn't snowboard as often while living in Chicago, however following a discussion about winter sports at work, Adina invited me to go skiing with her, her family, and her friends in Wisconsin.  I joined them a handful of times on ski trips and it was always enjoyable.  I would hop on the train with my snowboard, get off at the last stop in the suburbs,  they would meet me at the train station, and we'd head up to Wisconsin.  After spending hours on the slopes,  we would sit in the lodge eating schnitzel, and I would listen to their stories about skiing the mountains in their native hometown in Romania in between shots of bourbon.

I never realized how much I appreciated snow and winter until I came to California in the spring of 2012.  The first time I snowboarded down a real mountain in Big Bear Lake I was terrified at first, but after that first run, I was having a blast.  Up until then, I had grown up shredding at Mount Holly and other resorts in Michigan, which had no more than 400 feet of vertical drop.  Now I was carving down an 8,000 foot mountain with thousands of feet of drop, which was equally as game-changing as my first time skiing as a ten year old.  This was the real deal.  Snow sports have always been a part of my life, but after seven years of boarding down mountains in California, I've gained a new understanding of how much of an impact snow sports have had on my life as an outdoor enthusiast.  This impact was especially apparent during my first few trips to Mammoth Mountain, which was unlike any place I had ever been.  I'll never forget my first time seeing that 360 view of the Minarets and the surrounding snowy mountain peaks from the summit.  Despite gaining an appreciation for winter weather and snow, I would not want to go back to living in it for four months out of the year.  I think living in California serves me well in that regard.  Snow sports can still be a significant part of my life, but instead of living in the snow, I can drive to the mountains, enjoy the snow, then come back to more mild weather where I don't have to shovel or scrape ice and snow off my car windows.  It's mid October, and snow will be falling in the mountains soon, so time to start breaking out the snow gear!  By the way, why is it raining and fifty-five degrees outside?  That's way too cold!

Water Boy

"I'm sure you're fit enough to finish the race, but paddling twenty-two miles across Lake Tahoe with a seven hour cutoff might not be the best idea for your first paddle race".  This was the latest message in the email chain that I had been exchanging with the Race Director of a stand up paddle board race across Lake Tahoe that I was considering doing.  I've been doing water sports off and on since I was a kid, but I had never participated in a paddle race before, and it was clear that I was a little in over my head.  I agreed to sit this one out, do some shorter races first, and sign up next year.  I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that I likely dodged a bullet.  On the morning of the race I hopped into my car before the sun came up, stopped at 7-Eleven for coffee and provisions, put on some good music, and hit the road, arriving in Tahoe City around 9:00 AM.  I was going to stick to my original plan, only with one minor change.  Instead of racing, I would spend a few hours paddling around the lake on my own so I could enjoy the experience without the pressure.  Once I parked, I walked down to the beach, rented a board and paddle, and off I went.  Lake Tahoe is one of my favorite places.  It rests majestically at 6,200 feet in the Sierra Nevada mountains, offers stunning scenery, and is a year round paradise for outdoor enthusiasts.  The water was clear, blue, fresh, and calm as I paddled along.  Tall mountains surrounded the lake as the sun lit up the tops of the pine trees along the shoreline.  As I admired the scenery, I spotted a couple of sailboats out in the distance.  I fixated on them for a few seconds before shifting my focus back to the open lake in front of me.  My mind began to wander.         

I remember the first time I went sailing.  Actually, no I don't.  Which is probably a good thing, otherwise this story would be super cliche, but sailing played a significant role in my life while growing up.  My dad and his buddies participated in sailboat races before I was born and I grew up spending summer weekends sailing with my family and our family friends as a way of enjoying the outdoors.  laying out on the deck near the bow of our twenty-six foot Ranger sailboat and looking out at the water was always a nice distraction from whatever I had going on at school or my part time job.  I remember always looking out at the buildings along the distant shoreline and reveling in the peacefulness of the lake.  It was mellow compared to the hustle and bustle of the cities along the shore.  Every July my dad, along with a few other guys, would assist his friend Gale, who I respectfully called "Uncle Gale", in sailing his boat from Lake St. Clair to a small town called Presque Isle on the northern coast of Michigan, a trip that took approximately forty-eight hours.  My dad's other friend Mike joined every year as well, while the rest of the line up rotated year over year.  Once the guys arrived up north with the boat, Uncle Gale's wife, Aunt Gina, would drive up north, get on the boat, then my dad and the other guys would use her car to drive back to my hometown in the Detroit area, while Uncle Gale and Aunt Gina spent anywhere from three to five weeks on the boat together, sailing from town to town.  In the summer of 1999, when I was thirteen years old, my dad asked me if I wanted to accompany him and the guys for the trip north.  He explained that if I was going to join I would have to follow a few rules.  One of the rules was don't get too drunk, which wasn't a problem for me because I was barely a teenager.  The other one was that since we were sailing through the night, each of the guys had to take two hour "shifts" while the others slept.  This basically meant that one guy had to sit in the cockpit to make sure we didn't hit any freighters or collide with any boats.  The auto-steer function kept us on course so we didn't need to worry about steering the boat.  My dad said that we could both do his shifts together.  I happily agreed to join, and did so subsequently every year all the way up until my mid-twenties when I moved to California.  After the first couple of years, I began participating in the return trip from up north back down to Lake St. Clair as well.  Ever year was a different experience.  Most years, the weather was great, and the water was smooth as glass, other times it was stormy and the lake was so choppy the boat was bouncing almost the entire time.  But it was always fun.  The first year in particular when I was thirteen years old was game-changing for me.  The trip had everything you'd expect from four guys on a sailboat together.  There was plenty of foul language, dirty jokes, and laughs.  On the way up north we would always stop in a town called Port Huron.  We'd always leave Lake St. Clair on a Friday afternoon and make it up to Port Huron by around 10:00 PM, pull into the harbor, and stay for the night.  Why Port Huron?  Because every year, the Friday that we left was Boat Night.  Boat Night was the night before a yearly sailboat race that started in Port Huron and it was a giant party chock full of alcohol, drugs, and other debauchery which flooded the streets of downtown and brought a large amount of business to Port Huron's bars.  Every year, we'd arrive, get off the boat, and go for a walk to admire the chaos while all the drunks stumbled around and puked in the alleys.  Believe me, it was quite entertaining.  Especially when my dad scolded me for mouthing off to some drunk douche bag who made fun of my Limp Bizkit T-shirt.  Boat Night was fun, but what I really looked forward to about those trips were the adventures on the lake.  Sitting in the cockpit in the middle of the night with my dad under the stars was one of the coolest things I remember.  I had always thought being on the water was peaceful, but being out there at night was a whole other experience.  We were always about a half a mile from the shoreline and I loved watching the lights from the lighthouses flashing on the distant shore.  The absence of light pollution on the lake presented skies full of beautiful stars.  There were millions of them and they were more steadfast and bright than I had ever seen.  Typically, there wasn't much going on out on the lake in the middle of the night except for the occasional freighter or sailboat that would cruise by, although my dad and I did see some crazy stuff on occasion.  One year we saw the northern lights, which is incredibly rare in Northern Michigan.  Another year, we saw what we actually thought was a UFO.  It was so strange.  We were sitting in the cockpit, when out of nowhere, a mysterious black object appeared overhead, probably about a quarter of a mile ahead of us.  The object shined a light on the lake for about five seconds, then completely vanished.  No sounds or anything.  My dad and I looked at each other in disbelief.  Of course, Uncle Gale and the rest of the guys didn't believe a word we said the next morning when we told them about this surreal encounter.  There's nothing like watching a sunrise in the middle of the lake either.  One year when I was nineteen, I was in the cockpit as the sun was rising.  The thin clouds took on various shades of orange and yellow as the sun fired light across the morning sky.  The Blue Water bridge appeared in the distance, meaning we were about to enter the St. Clair river.  As I was enjoying this euphoric moment, Uncle Gale poked his head out from down below and handed me a cup of coffee.  "Here's your coffee, Duker".  He never called me Liam, I was always Duker my whole life, and still am to this day.  "Thanks" I replied taking the steaming mug.  "Oh wait, do we have any creamer on board?" I asked.  "Nope".  I drank my coffee straight up and from that day forward, never used creamer again.

Refocusing my thoughts on the present, the lake was becoming more choppy, as more motorboats, some pulling wake boarders, were now speeding across the lake.  As the waves rolled towards me from the middle of the lake, I began to roll up and down, which added more excitement to the paddling experience.  I thought about how much my dad, Uncle Gale, and the guys would love sailing on Lake Tahoe.  I thought about sailing on Lake St. Clair and the sailing trips to and from up north and how much I wanted to do it again.  I thought about kayaking on Grand Lake during the summer every year in Northern Michigan at the Fireside Inn (that place will get it's own blog post eventually).  Lastly, I thought about how all the experiences have led to my love of being on the water as an adult.  Sadly, I don't sail as much nowadays since I've moved to California, but one of these years, I'll visit Michigan in the summer so I can reconnect with sailing and Lake St. Clair.  In the meantime, enjoying the lakes of California on a kayak or paddle board is an excellent way to keep my love of being on the water going strong!

Chase The Passion

"I'm into creativity.  That's why I write books, that's why I do photography, that's why I write songs, that's why I do everything.  It's about being creative.  You have to chase the passion".

My creative side is often expressed through my writing and the races I run.  Running is my main passion and I am equally passionate about telling stories.  Writing this blog has allowed me to be creative by capturing the magic and authenticity of running, wild adventures, and life and putting it into words.  The way I see it, people can practice their passions all day long, but if they don't get creative once in a while, things can eventually grow dull and mundane, even if it's something they love.  That's why people who are passionate about cooking don't cook the same thing over and over again.  And why people who love painting don't paint the same picture over and over again.  Running ultras is no exception; I have to keep things interesting.  In 2020, I will be participating in a different kind of ultramarathon: The St. Croix Winter Ultra.  More details to follow in the race report, but for a quick overview, the race is run on a trail in rural Minnesota in the middle of January, through the night.  Runners are required to carry winter survival gear, and the temperature could drop to as cold as fifteen degrees below zero.  Needless to say, I've never done a race like this before, but it's all about being creative and keeping things interesting.  That's how I chase my passion.

Nikki continues to elaborate more on what kept his successful music career thriving for the last thirty-six years by explaining:

"You have to jump off the cliff.  You have to take a chance. Yeah, there's rocks below you, yeah, it's scary, but that's the joy."

If I didn't do exactly what Nikki said, I would have never advanced as a runner.  If I didn't "jump off the cliff" as he put it, I would never have been able move froward from running a 5K to completing a 100-miler.  I've taken several risks as a runner over the last ten years, but that doesn't mean I've been successful every time.  I've had my share of failures along the way, most notably when I attempted my first 100K.  The furthest I had run up to that point was a 50K eight months prior.  I was under trained and unprepared, and was forced to drop out at mile forty-eight due to not reaching the aid station by the official cut off time.  It wasn't fun, but it sure taught me a lot of lessons that set me up for success later on.

Nikki goes on to talk about his turbulent childhood living with his grandparents in rural New Mexico and on farms in Idaho.  As he endured more hardships with age, he said to himself:

"Life can't only be this"

To cope with the chaos in his life at a young age, he began writing journals, became a fan of rock music, and eventually learned to play guitar.  When I graduated from college, I shared a similar sentiment.  I was in a good place and I had a job, but I said to myself "is this it?  Is this how the rest of my life is going to be?  Am I going to wake up, go to work, come home, sit around, and go to bed, and spend my weekends sitting on my ass watching TV? There has to be more to life than that".  I wanted more excitement in my life, but I didn't know how to make things more interesting.  I responded by going for walks after work everyday.  After dinner I would grab my iPod and spend an hour walking around my neighborhood, listening to music, reflecting on things, and unwinding.  It was a good way to get some cardio in, but soon I grew bored with walking and it transitioned into running within a few months.

When asked about his early days in Los Angeles and the formation of Motley Crue, Nikki explains:

"I wanted more Sabbath, I wanted more Pistols, and more aggression. I was angry and I felt rejected at that time.  And my answer was Motley Crue"

He was referring to the music scene at the time in Los Angeles, which was the big heyday for new wave.  Hard rock was up and coming, but still largely confined to the underground scene.  Nikki was inspired by Black Sabbath and the Sex Pistols and formed Motley Crue to bring the excitement and energy of hard rock and punk rock to a wider audience.  As a kid growing up in Michigan, most kids around me played football and basketball.  Those were the sports to play if you were a kid in the Midwest and it was bred into kids by their parents.  I've never had any interest in playing football and I enjoyed playing basketball to a degree, but I was unsatisfied with the lack of fulfillment it brought to my life.  I wanted to have more fun and I wanted more excitement.  Running back and forth on a basketball court never gave me the thrill I was seeking.  My answer was I rode my bike a lot, played little league baseball, played tennis, skied, and snowboarded.  I loved being outdoors.  Getting into running as an adult was another way of adding more excitement to my otherwise ordinary life.

Nikki then goes into detail of some of the lyrics he wrote for Motley Crue's songs and goes on to say

"My intent as a lyricist was to take stories and bring them up to the surface so everyone could celebrate them"

My intent in writing this blog is to take my stories and my reality and put it all out in the open so people can maybe read it and become inspired to follow their more passions more seriously, whatever they may be.

At one point, the discussion shifts towards Motley Crue's decision to no longer tour after thirty-four years of performing in clubs and arenas.

"I like integrity.  I'd rather go out on my feet than my knees"

Nikki further explains that he and the other band members would rather end on a positive note after a long tour of sold out shows in arenas than touring for another ten to fifteen years and being reduced to "playing at the rib joint down the street" or as guitarist Mick Mars put it in a separate interview, "playing in front of twelve people in a dive bar".  When I ran my first hundred miler, I took it easy.  I took my time and I was cautious, perhaps a little too cautious.  I was probably capable of pushing harder, but when I finished, although I was a hot mess, I wasn't completely destroyed.  I would rather finish an ultramarathon feeling strong and energetic than push too hard and cross the finish line puking, collapsing, and having to be carried away by the medical staff, all for the sake of finishing thirty minutes faster.

"I take care of myself, and I eat good.  And I try to take care of my body"

At the time of the interview, Nikki was fifty-seven years old, and had survived unimaginable amounts of debauchery throughout the 1980's, including two heroin overdoses, and sporadically struggled to stay sober throughout the 1990's.  Despite his history with alcoholism and drug addiction, doctors have maintained that he is "like a twenty-six year old" in terms of the quality of his health.  Running has allowed me to develop and maintain great cardiovascular health and, like Nikki, I also eat as healthy as I can, and I try to take care of my body as much as possible.  I view life as a gift and I want to make it last.

As he continues to discuss the decades of life in Motley Crue and his side projects, Nikki touches on things he's learned over the years and mentions something that especially caught my attention:

"Your ego is not your amigo"

I learned this lesson the hard way at the Canyons 100K in April 2019.  I was feeling strong, but acted recklessly, and the heat forced me out of the race at mile forty-eight.  I have always tried very hard to not let my ego get the better of me in running, even if it's a short distance, but since that day, I believe now more than ever, to never take success for granted.  Green Day sings in the chorus of their song Nice Guys Finish Last "don't pat yourself on the back, you might break your spine".  The race isn't over until it's over.  I learned that day to always act responsibly and to never get ahead of myself until I have crossed the finish line.

As the interview comes to a close, Nikki is asked what advice he would give to young people trying to have a career in the music business.  He advises young aspiring musicians to listen to and copy great songwriters and personalize it by putting their heart and soul into the music.

"I copied my heroes, I made it original, and I injected something personal into it"

That's exactly what I do when I write this blog.  I have read several memoirs written by ultramarathon runners, musicians, business professionals, etc.  My goal when I write these posts is to put my stories out there for people to see with the hopes that they will read them, and take their passions and dreams more seriously as a result.  My inspiration draws from a large number of sources.  In writing these posts, I've copied the style and works of those who have written my favorite books, I've put my own twist on it, and I've made it more personal by injecting my stories, experiences, and adventures into my writing.