Therapy Running

As human beings, we all understand that there are some people in this world who are not so awesome, to put it nicely.  I'm not talking about dictators, murderers, or criminals.  Just people who are difficult and generally unpleasant to be around.  We commonly refer to these people as assholes, jerks, douche bags, or dicks.  Or we just say they're "not nice" if we want to keep it more PG rated.  I generally surround myself with pretty cool people and I like to think I'm a pretty good guy, so I haven't had too many encounters with these types of people in my adult life, but inevitably it happens every so often.  There's always the occasional Facebook troll, or douche bag co-worker, etc.  In my thirty-five years on this planet, I've definitely learned that you can strive to be the best and most decent person you can, but no matter what, there will always be jerks out there.  I know, it sounds so simple, and everyone is probably thinking "yeah, we know", but it's true.  There are some people out there who don't understand what life is all about, they don't understand the proper way to treat people, or the proper way to communicate.  The reason for this is almost always because they either have deep rooted insecurity issues, or they just have low intelligence.  Or both.  

Something that helps me quite a bit when I have occasional run ins with these kinds of people is doing what I call therapy running.  Therapy running is also quite helpful with navigating through hard times when life becomes overwhelming and stressful.  So what exactly is "therapy running"?  For me, it is a very specific form of running that is designed to release negative energy.  It consists of starting early in the morning on a weekend, so I don't have to worry about being done in time for work.  I pick a distance I want to run, and a place to do it.  I don't try to run a certain pace.  In fact, I pay very little attention to what pace I run during therapy runs.  I run at whatever pace I'm the most comfortable.  Unlike other runs, I don't pay much attention to the surrounding scenery.  Instead, my mind is more focused on psychologically processing whatever it is that's causing issues in my life.  There is a lot of analyzing, reflecting, and asking "why is this person or thing such a pain in the ass in my life"?.  And then there's the choice of music, which is just as important as the running itself.  When I was growing up and getting through all the slush that people go through during their adolescent years, my two outlets for aggression were outdoor activities and music.  During the winter it was snow sports like snowboarding and skiing, and summers were for bike riding, tennis, and several other things.  My taste in music has always been very eclectic, and I used to love making mixes on cassette tapes that I could take with me on these adventures to use as soundtracks.  When CD burners and shock proof CD players emerged, it was even better.  Some of the most peaceful and fulfilling times I had in my teen years were Thursday nights after school.  Thursday night was ski club night during the winter.  I'd snowboard with my buddies at Mount Holly and listen to homemade CDs and cassette tapes during the forty-five minute bus ride from school to the ski area, and back.  During the summers I'd be with my family on our small sailboat and I'd walk to the front of the boat, put on my headphones for a little while, and just lay in the sun.  Since running is my primary sport these days, it serves as a perfect outlet for aggression and stress, and by adding music to the equation, I'm essentially using the same method for releasing negative energy as I did when I was growing up.  I don't listen to music during races, but I almost always do when I run alone.  During therapy runs I generally like to listen to a "sandwich" of music genres.  I like to start with something fun and energetic to get into a groove and reflect on what is troubling me.  This is the first phase.  I'll then switch to something darker, heavier, and more angry, which is when the releasing of the negative energy happens.  My pace usually quickens during this phase.  Finally, during the last few miles after my aggression is released, I'll slow back down and return to the fun and energetic music.  The middle phase of the run that includes angry music and hard running is the most important part.  Despite this phase being the key element to the run, I have a personal policy to never end a therapy run on a negative note.  It's a similar mindset to how couples should never go to bed angry.  I will make the middle phase last as long as it takes to get my anger and aggression out before moving on to the final phase during the last few miles, which as mentioned above, is a return to more fun music with a more optimistic mindset.  

I've never gone on a therapy run and felt worse afterwards than I did beforehand.  In fact, they've worked wonders for me during times when I've had to deal with douche bags or cope with stress and hardships.  When I finish a therapy run I feel calmer and happier than I did when I started.  Those runs allow me to analyze what is troubling me, process it, reflect on it, and release the negative energy.  This helps to declutter my mind, be more at peace, and keep me from channeling my frustration in a bad way that could affect people around me.  My theory is that it is okay to get angry and stressed out sometimes.  In fact, it's healthy.  There's nothing wrong with it, but I think it's important to channel that anger and stress in a way that it's not being taken out on other people in your life, especially your loved ones.  There's all kinds of healthy ways to channel stress and anger and I'm glad I found mine.  Getting angry and stressed out sometimes is part of life, and in my opinion, channeling those feelings the proper way is one of the things that plays a key role in people's general happiness levels.  I also realize that there are a lot of people out there who have the displeasure of having a lot of jerks in their lives.  When the assholes get to you, just know that it's not you, it's them dealing with their own shit, and they clearly don't know how to channel their frustration with life.  Keep on keeping on.  

  

What's With All The Sweat? My 2021 LA Marathon Story

The scene was dominated with the sound of rhythmic base drums being played on the sidewalk as I crested the top of the hill and turned a corner in the road in the Little Tokyo section of Los Angeles.  It was Sunday morning and I was a little over four miles into the Los Angeles Marathon.  Things seemed to be going fairly well thus far.  The weather was great and my pace was pretty steady, but there was one concerning issue that I could no longer ignore.  My shirt was getting increasingly more damp with sweat on my back and around my armpits.  This is normal during races, however I was only one sixth of the way through the course.  It seemed to early to be sweating this much, especially since it wasn't even warm outside.  The more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me;  the sweat on my shirt wasn't from heat.  It was from anxiety.  It was stress sweat.  After I came this realization, the excess sweat made more sense.  Truth be told, I was feeling some anxiety at the beginning of this race.  In fact, in some ways, I find large scale road marathons to be more intimidating than ultramarathons.  A lot of people who know me would be surprised by this sentiment.  They would say "dude, why would you be more afraid of a road marathon than a fifty-mile trail race?  A marathon is easy for you, isn't it?".  No, it certainly isn't.  Road marathons are tough.  Most ultramarathons are held on trails in rural or mountainous areas in small modest towns, and only consist of a few hundred runners.  Except for the aid stations along the course, which are typically five or six miles apart, you might run with one or two other people in solitude, if not completely alone.  Because of the long distance and the laid back nature of most ultras, it is expected that runners will walk and hike for a portion of the race.  It's completely normal to not run the whole course.  This is a sharp contrast to the tone of large road marathons, where there are tens of thousands of runners present and the course travels through a major city with lots of spectators, media coverage, and sponsors.  More eyes are on runners during road marathons, and we're expected to run our asses off.  This in turn, adds pressure on me to have a strong race, hence the anxiety and sweaty back and armpits in the early stages of the 2021 LA Marathon.  Let me says this though; if I didn't love large scale road marathons such as the LA Marathon or the Chicago Marathon, I would not have come back to do the LA Marathon for ten straight years.  I think having that small amount of anxiety at the beginning is part of the reason why I love it.  Sometimes it's good to put ourselves in uncomfortable situations because that's how we build confidence.  

                                                            Yeah, I need new running shoes

The days leading up to the marathon had been fun, busy, and eventful.  Sam and I had decided to stay in her hometown of Irvine, California over the weekend so I could meet her parents in person for the first time.  We left Silicon Valley early in the morning the Friday before, picked up my race packet from the race expo at Dodger Stadium, and arrived at our hotel in Orange County mid-afternoon.  Friday evening consisted of dinner at a fish market & restaurant in Dana Point with Sam's parents.  Although I had met them on video chat several times, it was really cool meeting them in person, along with their dog Lily.  We spent some time in Laguna Beach on Saturday and Sam showed me around her old stomping ground.  I had spent some time in Orange County when I lived in Los Angeles, but I felt like I was getting to know the area on another level with Sam.  And of course there was more family time and delicious meals.  We went to Sam and her parents' favorite restaurants, which allowed me to pack on a lot of extra calories for the race on Sunday.  When race morning came, I woke up at 3:30 AM and made the hour long drive from Irvine to Century City.  A cool thing about big city road marathons is they are always very well coordinated.  There were several busses serving as race shuttles in Century City to transport runners to the start line at Dodger Stadium.  I was still full from dinner the night before, so I chose to not eat on the way to Century City and purchased only a cup of coffee from the 7-Eleven store near our hotel.  Despite my nervous energy at the start line, I was feeling pretty good physically and mentally, and when hunger set in about thirty minutes before race start time, I was able to eat a couple of bananas from a food booth.  Feeling ready, I hopped into the open coral, the national anthem was sang, and within minutes, the field was moving slowly towards the banner that hovered over the start line.  I took a few pictures as we approached the banner, "California Love" by Dr. Dre and 2Pac cranked on the speakers, the pace of our walk towards the start quickened, and just like that, we were off and running past cheering spectators and several media outlets.  It was go time in Los Angeles. 

                                               Sam, Lily, her mom, and I after lunch at Katella Bakery

After having the realization of why my shirt was wet with sweat early on in the race, I actually felt a little more relaxed.  If I'm having an issue and I don't know why it's happening, that creates feelings of uncertainty and nervousness, but if I understand why something is happening, even if the problem persists, it makes me feel a little better because I feel more in control and I know how I can mitigate the problem.  From miles seven through thirteen, we ran through Silver Lake and Hollywood, before continuing into West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Century City from miles fourteen through twenty.  By mile seven, my big ass road marathon anxiety had calmed down and I was now trying to convince myself to run as fast as I felt like going and to not be afraid of crashing and burning.  I was on track to finish in three hours and forty-eight minutes at the halfway point and I had moments where I was running at a seven minute and thirty second pace.  I didn't plan on getting a PR today, but I began to realize that it was not out of the realm of possibilities.  But I didn't put pressure on myself.  I would simply run as quickly and comfortably as I could and we would see what happens.  By the time I hit mile twenty-two, my pace had slowed, and by the time I hit mile twenty-three, it had slowed considerably.  I had made it through twenty-two-ish miles going pretty strong but with three and a half or so miles left in the race I grew exhausted.  This made sense given how busy work has been, the long drive to Orange County, and the fact that I hadn't been sleeping as much as I normally do the couple of weeks leading up to the race.  I decided there was no point in beating myself up over it and just moved forward as best as I could.  Typically the LA Marathon is held in March, but was pushed to November because of...well, you know...that little thing that shut the whole world down in 2020.  Miles twenty-two through twenty-five are always ran through an area of Los Angeles known as Brentwood before crossing into Santa Monica and ending on Ocean Avenue near the beach.  This year, due to some permit issues in Santa Monica and some logistical blunders, the course would be turning around in Brentwood and heading back three and a half miles, finishing in Century City, near where the shuttles had picked us up early that morning.  Rounding the turnaround point, I realized that given the state of exhaustion I was in, I would have to run/walk the rest of the race, but I didn't care too much.  I had a good first twenty-two miles, and now I just had to slog through to the finish.  It was what it was.  

                                                        Making our way to the start line

The last few miles kicked my butt.  Just as I had predicted, I had to alternate between running and walking, but the crowd support and the enthusiasm of the spectators carried me along pleasantly.  Just when I began to feel like I was never going to get there, the tweny-six mile marker appeared, and the finish line came into view after turning a corner.  I clapped and threw my arms in the air, crossing the finish line in four hours and three minutes.  Not too bad, given how busy my life has been over the last few months.  My performances at the LA Marathon have fluctuated over the years, and I would say that this year was probably one of the better ones.  It felt good to test my fear in the middle stages of the race and try to run faster than I normally would, and although things got difficult during the last few miles, I still considered it a successful race.  Sam and her parents were waiting for me at Katella Bakery, their favorite Jewish deli, so I made my way back to my car and drove down to Los Alamitos to meet up with them and have a celebratory lunch.  They all congratulated me on my finish and listened to my stories as we reveled in the deliciousness of our pastrami sandwiches, corned beef sandwiches, french fries, and matzo ball soup.  After we were all full and well fed, Sam and I hit the road and headed back home, arriving at around 9:30 PM.  What was the main takeaway from this race?  Well, there were three, I'd say.  One, I would recommend not being too afraid of what you can do.  You never know until you try.  If you feel like you can run a little faster during a race, I would say go for it.  Two, it's okay to feel some anxiety before a race.  Three, I don't think it's a good idea to beat yourself up if you slow down or have a tough go at it.  Sometimes life happens and you just have to take what you can get.  Races are happening all over the world and they're only getting more popular, so you'll have plenty of more chances to have your best race.  That's it for me for this year.  Time to rest and get ready for snow season! 

Brain Full Of Mush: Broken Arrow "52K" 2021

The runner's high is something that every runner knows and experiences.  We know all too well that indescribable feeling when we push ourselves hard during a race and when we cross the finish line we're so hopped up on endorphins that it's as if we've stepped into an alternate reality.  We've been through so much that are brains are essentially full of mush, at least for the time being.  We're so exhausted from giving it our all, that the world around us seems dreamlike and simple things that our brains can normally process easily don't quite register.  Our ability to comprehend what's going on around us, our ability to make simple decisions, or our ability to perform everyday tasks is all temporarily impaired.  This can often lead to funny situations, as was the case with me when I ran the Broken Arrow 52K.  

                                                Approaching the summit of Squaw Peak

At 6:30 AM on Saturday October 2nd 2021, I stepped out of the my car in the parking lot of Squaw Village.  Sam stepped out of the passenger's side and shivered in the frigid morning air and she came around to the driver's side.  She gave me a quick hug and kiss and wished me good luck before promptly jumping into the driver's side of my car and driving the two miles back to the condo that we had rented for the weekend.  In front of me stood the massive peaks of the Tahoe Palisades Ski Resort above the quaint little village at the base of the mountain.  Squaw Village has several restaurants, stores, and shops that typically cater to skiers and snowboarders, however today those establishments were being occupied by runners.  Even though it was still early in the morning, the village was pulsing with energy from the race participants, the vendor booths, music, and the race staff making announcements over the loud speaker.  I made my way through the village to the start line, which was just underneath the arches of the village entrance, across from the Coffeebar Olympic Valley coffee shop.  I hadn't had any coffee yet and to my delight, the coffee shop was open and the line wasn't too long.  I still had twenty minutes before the race started at 7 AM, so I went inside and hopped in line.  As I stood amongst the other runners warming my soul (and body) with a piping hot cup of brew I saw Courtney Dauwalter next to me chatting with a group of runners.  I made eye contact, said hey, introduced myself, gave her an elbow bump, and congratulated her on her awesome finish at UTMB.  I didn't want to be too much of a fanboy so I kept it short.  She was in town for a trail running workshop as part of the festivities for Broken Arrow, and even though I was just another runner, she said thanks and seemed appreciative of the support.  Before long, the clock at the start line indicated one minute until race start.  I assumed my position in the middle of the pack of three hundred or so runners.  The gun went off and we were making our way towards the chairlift at the base of the resort.  For the first several miles we would be following the same route as Western States, which climbs to the summit of the ski resort over a four mile span.  The Broken Arrow course however would be taking a detour and we would be cresting Squaw Peak around mile seven.  The climb along the Western States trail was steep with several switchbacks, and after the first mile I no longer felt cold even though it was around thirty-eight degrees outside.  The line of runners was moving up the single track trail slowly, so there really was no choice except to power hike.  No sense in burning myself out this early in the race by trying to run up these inclines.  Eventually the pack thinned out and I was able to run along some of the rolling terrain.  As hours passed and miles were covered, things seemed to be going well.  The course was advertised as being fifty-two kilometers in length, however due to some construction at the resort, the course was re-routed and ended up being forty-six kilometers.  The route we would cover was a fourteen-ish mile loop course that would be run twice.  The course circumnavigated the ski resort, climbing and descending several peaks along the way.  There were many instances where we climbed up steep single track trails above treeline with endless switchbacks, while other parts of the course were run on wide jeep roads.  The climb from the KT-22 ski lift up to Squaw Peak at 9,000 feet was especially a doozy.  We traversed over craggy ridges with sheer drop offs on either side, made the arduous climb up to the stairway to heaven ladder, and finally crested Squaw Peak.  Along the way we were treated to spectacular views of Lake Tahoe and the surrounding mountains, which made it all worthwhile.  The course then descended into Shirley Basin, climbed again up to High Camp, then down the Thunder Mountain single track trail back to the village.  During this descent I admired the scenery around me.  The trail followed a series of switchbacks and surrounding me in every direction were towering mountain peaks.  These were some of the most beautiful and scenic miles I had ever run at an ultramarathon, if not the most.  I came into the aid station at the halfway point of the course near the base of the mountain feeling energetic and ready to take on the second loop.  To boost my chances of finishing strong, I decided to deploy my "secret weapon" after scarfing down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  My actually not so secret weapon was a 5-hour Energy shot.  I pulled it from my pocket, tossed it down, and headed back up the Western States Trail for the second loop.  The shot was working it's magic and I found myself running swiftly along the rolling sections of the terrain through the trees, passing several other runners along the way.  As I passed one guy with pictures of donuts on his shorts, I thanked him for letting me pass and said I didn't know how much longer this was going to last (referring to my burst of energy), but I hoped that I wouldn't regret it later on.  

                                          Running downhill among Thunder Mountain Trail

The burst of energy from the shot carried me along pleasantly for a while, and I made the climb up to Snow King for a second time feeling pretty good.  Coming into the aid station at the top of Snow King, I recognized Kaycee one of the volunteers.  She regularly helps out at all of the races in the area and I had seen her at just about every ultramarathon that I've done in California for the past couple of years.  We exchanged pleasantries, she refilled my water bottles, and I was on my way.  I had also seen Holly, another volunteer, at the Squaw Peak aid station that I had gotten to know over the years.  It made me once again realize how tight knit this community is and the friendships that develop over time.  Unfortunately, things went to hell pretty quickly when I began climbing from the KT-22 ski lift up towards Squaw Peak for the second time.  My legs began to hurt and completely seized up.  It became impossible to move any faster than a snail's pace and I had to stop and sit on a rock at several points along the climb to stretch out my legs.  I was leap frogging with a couple of guys and we just kept moving forward with our heads down, occasionally looking up to see how much more climbing we had left.  The guys around me were using poles and I thought about how much of a help they would have been in this moment.  After what seemed like hours, I finally made it to the base of the stairway to heaven ladder after scrambling over the rocks on all fours, barely able lift my legs.  Passing over Squaw Peak and through the aid station once again, I felt relieved that the worst of the race was now behind me, however there was still one big climb up to high camp a couple of miles down the trail.  Even though the climb was less than a mile, it took all of my remaining energy.  I was done.  Spent.  As I crested the climb, some volunteers were on the trailside cheering.  The massive toll the course had taken on my mind and body caused me to act loopy, and I danced up the trail as I passed by.  This drew plenty of laughs and when things quieted down, I managed to say "you guys are awesome, thank you" in a hoarse, raspy voice.  "We got whisky!" one of the volunteers said excitedly.  This caught my attention immediately and shook me from my fuzzy mental state.  "you have whisky?" I said. "Yeah!  do you want to take a shot?" "Hell yeah, I do!" I responded with a grin.  High Camp was the final aid station of the course, about three miles from the finish line.  I plopped into a chair and after refilling my water bottles, the volunteer returned with two shots of whisky.  We toasted and threw them down, which instantly made my body feel warm and tingly.  I heard a familiar voice next to me. "Hey Liam! I had to quit man, I've been puking for the last three miles".  It was Tim, a guy I had chatted with during the first loop of the race.  Unfortunately his day ended up not going so well, but he didn't seem too disappointed with his situation.  He had run this race as well as many others in the area several times.  Some days you just don't have it, and that's okay.  I bade him and the rest of the volunteers farewell as I dashed down the trail, which was almost all downhill from here on out.  Taking in the scenery of the surrounding mountains a second time was more emotionally intense than the first time.  I didn't struggle much during the first loop.  But here I was, after dragging myself up to the top of Squaw Peak for a second time, feeling like I was going to die at several points, not sure if I could continue.  But I pulled through and got myself through this meat grinder of a race, and now I was surrounded once again by beautiful mountain scenery as I ran along the switchbacks.  Out of all of the races that I've done, I can't think of a time when I struggled so much, with the possible exception of Tahoe Rim Trail 100.  Taking in the views of the mountains all around me after going through all of that madness was mind altering, to say the least.  When I completed the descent and ran towards the finish line in the village, I saw Sam on the side of the course.  I crossed the finish line with my arms in the air and was so overcome with emotion that I hugged the volunteer who put my medal around my neck.  Immediately afterwards I hobbled over to Sam and gave her an even bigger hug.  Having her at the finish line put me into a whole other reality and I couldn't have been happier.  At the end of the day, I had climbed and descended 10,030 feet over 28.8 miles, experienced moments where I felt like I had the entire universe in my pocket and, in turn, experienced other moments where I felt like a walking pile of dog shit.  The manner in which the race ended was the perfect way to top it all off.  

                                                             Climbing up to Snow King

The aftermath of the race was the funniest part of the whole day.  As I mentioned up top, we runners know all too well the feeling of having our brains fried after races when we feel like we're going to die along the way.  Given that I struggled especially hard during this race and I still managed to finish, my mind was at about a nine on the one to ten scale of post race brain mushiness.  Sam was very understanding of my ridiculousness and listened as I went on like an insane madman about how awesome the experience was and how much I struggled during the race.  I give her kudos for being patient with me because I wasn't really all there.  That patience muddled after a little while.  It started as we walked through the village and we passed by a tent that was serving snacks and quesadillas.  "Hey, look, they have lots of snacks here.  You're probably starving".  "Actually, nah, I'm okay for now.  I'm not that hungry" I answered back.  "But look, there's so many snacks here" she said as she walked over towards the tent.  I reluctantly followed her and told the volunteer at the tent thanks, but I wasn't feeling very hungry yet, since I had just finished the race.  Sam looked at me and rolled her eyes.  "I'm getting snacks".  "No, I'm okay, really" I said back.  "It's okay, we'll save them for later or for the ride home tomorrow" she responded.  I took that as my queue to just be quiet, so I said okay.  Of course that was all on the surface.  Internally I was saying "I'm not hungry right now, I don't want any goddamn snacks!  I just want to go back to the condo, take a shower, and rest for a little while, then I'll be hungry".  And in Sam's head, she was saying "I get that you're not hungry, but they're free snacks that we can have later.  Just shut up and take them!".  Another episode occurred as we were exiting the village to go to the car.  I wanted nothing more than to just go back to the condo, take a shower, relax for a little while, then go have a big dinner once hunger set in.  Just as we were nearing the exit, Sam stopped at tent selling CBD products.  Again, I patiently followed her to the tent and spent a few minutes looking at the display items with Sam while the vendors talked in detail about the products, hoping we would buy something.  None of it was sinking in.  It was simply too much information for my brain to process in that moment.  When the sales people paused for a few seconds, I saw my chance to finally chime in.  "That's cool guys, but honestly I'm not at my best right now and I need to go recover for a little while.  You guys will be here tomorrow right?" They said yes, and I told them that we'd be back to check them out tomorrow after I was feeling more with it.  When we finally made it back to the car, Sam just stared at me.  "What?" I said as I smiled innocently.  "Those people at the CBD booth were trying to tell you that you get a free Epsom salts sample for finishing the race."  I looked at her confusingly.  "They did?" "Yes, you doofus!" she shot back with a laugh.  She held up a small pouch.  "I grabbed your free sample for you".  I told her thanks, but I said that I was just going to take a shower, I didn't need that stuff.  "But your legs are seized up, and if you take a thirty minute bath with these, it'll help with your pain".  "No, I'll be okay.  I just want to take a shower".  She'd heard enough.  "Okay, listen.  How about this" she replied with a hint of frustration.  "These were a free sample, so just use them and see how they feel.  THEN you can take a shower".  She didn't wait for my response and instead just said "you're using these".  I just looked at her and we both burst into a fit of laughter like a couple of hyenas.  I'm sure the sales people at the tent mentioned the free samples, but it just wasn't registering in my brain.  It wasn't sinking in that it was a free sample, and all I had to do was take it.  It didn't involve any decision making.  Once again, internally I was saying "I don't want any goddamn Epsom salts right now.  I just want to go back to the condo and recover".  Internally, Sam was saying "It's a free sample.  Take the fucking Epsom salts and use them!  They'll help you".  Sam was rational, I was not.  After the laughter calmed down, I agreed to take a bath with the Epsom salts and we headed back to the condo as the sun began to set.  

                      Sam and I in the car after the race after the Epsom Salt laughter died down

Some people who are reading this might be wondering what in the hell happened to me based on the behavior I was displaying.  Well, the answer is 28.8 miles with 10,030 feet of climbing and descending at an an average elevation of 8,000 feet happened to me.  I think that about sums it up.  I'm grateful that Sam urged me to take a bath with the Epsom salts.  I will say, they certainly did the trick.  After I took a bath and got cleaned up, my muscles were already feeling a lot less sore when we went out for dinner that night.  The race series is a weekend long event at Squaw Village, so the next morning we visited the vendor booths again after I was feeling more refreshed.  That experience was much more pleasant than the experience of visiting them right after finishing the race, and I shared a laugh with the sales people over how out of it I was the day before.  When the smoke cleared, I was pretty sure that Broken Arrow was the most challenging race I had ever done.  Sure I had run races that featured more elevation gain on similar terrain, but I had never run a race with so much elevation gain packed into such a short distance.  The epic course and the struggle I faced will stay with me forever and I look forward to doing this race again someday. 

Before Broken Arrow: California Winters and Pandemic Progression

It was late January 2020 when I first heard about the Broken Arrow Sky Race.  I had just finished up a run on a beautiful Sunday morning with Mountain View Area Run Club.  As a runner, I tend to perform my best in cold weather, and mornings in Silicon Valley during the month of January are typically in the low forties with plenty of sunshine.  The sun rises at around 7:15 AM, the air is cold and refreshing, the air quality index is generally very good, everything seems to be greener and more colorful thanks to rain season, and the distant mountain peaks have dustings of snow on top of them at certain times.  I call it a California Winter.  California Winter mornings are fantastic for running and I was feeling particularly energetic after this run.  I sat at a table outside of Starbuck's at the corner of Pear Avenue and Shoreline Boulevard in Mountain View, our usual meeting spot.  I was clad in flip flops, running shorts, a warm jacket, and a winter beanie hat, double fisting a dark roast coffee and a cup of water.  I had just finished telling the group stories about the St. Croix Winter Ultra, which I had run a couple of weeks earlier.  As I finished the story about eating nothing but chocolate chip cookies during the entire thirty-eight mile run, my friend Mariele asked me if I would ever consider running Broken Arrow.  After I arrived home later that morning I did some research.  A 52-kilometer trail race in Lake Tahoe in June, circumnavigating the Palisades at Tahoe Ski Resort (formerly Squaw Valley) on a course mostly above treeline, with some snowy sections, steep climbs, beautiful scenery, and a climb to the summit of Emigrant Pass at nearly 9,000 feet in elevation?  Holy shit...sign me up!  When I saw Mariele a couple of weeks later I thanked her for her suggestion and told her that I had signed up.  I later found out that she is Mike Wardian's sister, which would at least partially explain her fondness of ultramarathons.

When I received the email that the race would be cancelled, it massively pissed me off.  I knew that we were going through a very challenging time in the early stages of the pandemic, but it made me angry.  On the morning I saw the email, I had tossed my snowshoes and poles in my car and driven two hours and forty-five minutes out to Pinecrest to get one more snowshoeing trip in before the spring, only to be intercepted by a forest ranger at the junction where the mountain road flanks off and leads to the trailhead.  "Okay, no problem.  All I want to do is go snowshoeing for a few hours.  That doesn't violate any social distancing rules".  I thought as I drove forward.   "How're ya doing?" I said with a smile as I rolled down my window.  "Good, thanks.  Where are you traveling from?"  the ranger asked.  "The Bay Area".  "What are you here for?"  "Just to do some snowshoeing at the Crabtree Trail before Spring kicks in" I replied.  I smiled sheepishly as if to say "look dude, I know I'm not from here, but please let me just go to the friggin' trail for a little while.  I drove a long way".  I knew that saying this out loud to the ranger wouldn't help anything, so I just answered his questions.  He was a polite guy, but my response didn't sit well with him.  He proceeded to give me the whole spiel on sheltering in place, no non-essential travel allowed, bleh, blah bleh, blah bleh.  Arguing would have done me no good, so I graciously turned my car around and headed home.  Annoyed about the fact that I wouldn't be able to have some nature therapy during hard times, I searched my email for updates on Broken Arrow to lighten my mood.  The cancelation email was in my "promotions" folder...and it had been sent two weeks ago, but I didn't see it.  Son of a bitch.  The race was still two months away and I was shocked that they had pulled the plug so early.  It just goes to show how little I knew in April 2020 about how big of an impact covid would have on the world.  Fed up with the pandemic, races being cancelled left and right, and the overall impact that covid was having on my life, I arrived home, threw all my gear on the floor in anger, and went straight to my bedroom to take a nap.  It was really the only tantrum that I threw since the start of the pandemic, but I was just overwhelmed with how things were unfolding.  The nap did help, and I calmed down and came to my senses later that afternoon.  

Fast forward to September 2021.  Thanks to advanced research by top scientists, vaccines, and the actions that people have taken to help mitigate the spread of covid, the 2021 race is on.  Despite the recent delta variant surge and wildfires, the organizers deemed it safe to put the race on with a few modifications.  The race was pushed forward to October, the course would be slightly modified due to construction on the gondola at the ski resort, and we would be required to mask up at the start line.  The nice thing is that even though it wasn't possible to get a refund for the cancelled 2020 event, my entry was rolled into the 2021 race at no cost.  Now let's talk about my current situation.  It's been busy at work.  Like, super busy.  My department is transitioning into an exciting new phase that will hopefully be great for my career, but a heavy focus on work over the last several months has left me with little time and energy to run on mountain trails.  Most of my training has been on flat, paved paths like the Stevens Creek Trail and Guadalupe River Trail, both of which are very close to where I live.  I've managed to get a couple of mountain trail runs in, but with the race being one week away, I'm about as ready as I'm going to be.  This race is definitely not going to be a PR.  Broken Arrow features 10,000 feet of climbing at high altitude on tough terrain, and I fully expect that this race could take me around eight hours to complete.  That's okay though.  What matters most is the experience.  With that, I will simply hope for the best and see what happens.  For now, I'm going to enjoy the final week of training and I'm looking forward to another adventure in one of my favorite places!

Going Easy

The first of the Gem Lakes

The nighttime air was chilly and refreshing as we sat around the campfire.  Stars filled the sky above and huge mountain peaks rose above us in every direction.  Opposite the campfire from me were some familiar faces, but faces I hadn't seen in person for quite some time.  "Just so you know, Liam" said my friend Iris "tomorrow we were planning on getting started around 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning and going for a nice, easy eight or nine mile hike.  Hope that's okay".  Not only was it okay, but I was relieved.  "That sounds perfect to me" I responded.  Iris and Dave looked surprised. "Are you sure you don't mind?  We thought you were going to want to run the whole thing maybe even twice".  I laughed.  "Yeah, right" I said.  "No, a nice easy hike sounds great.  It's actually what I was hoping for".  

                                                           Our campsite at Convict Lake

Anyone who reads these blogs knows that I'm an adventure junkie.  They know that I love running stupidly long distances, hiking up mountains at 10,000 feet or higher in altitude, and putting my body through hell while doing it.  Yes, there is an element of physically pushing myself involved, and that is part of the thrill that fuels my desire to keep running ultras and hiking up massive mountains.  But despite what some people think, I actually live a pretty normal life.  My weekday morning runs are between three and five miles, I go to work everyday, I spend time with my girlfriend and my friends, I get six to seven hours a sleep per night, and my diet is pretty normal.  Yes, I'm an ultrarunner, but that doesn't mean that I approach every experience in life with the same attitude as when I toe the start line of a fifty-mile race.  Yes, I like to push myself, but I'm more focused on the experience and journey.  This is especially true when I go hiking with my friends.  Dave and Iris seemed to actually think that I might be turned off by their plans.  I think they wondered if my response was going to be more like "What?  How come we're not going all the way to the summit?" or "Come on guys, let's make it a sixteen mile hike, otherwise it won't be worth it".  Or "Okay, well I think I'm going to run the trail instead.  I'll see you guys along the route somewhere".  Believe it or not, sometimes I like to take it easy and just enjoy the experience.  Not only is it a good thing to do psychologically, but it also creates a more enjoyable situation because I'm not being as rough on my body.  This hiking trip with three of my good friends from Southern California really brought this sentiment to the surface of my mind.

                           The group (Iris, Dave, Tony, and yours truly) midway through the hike

The journey began when I left Silicon Valley on Friday afternoon in mid-August.  Since I moved to the Bay Area from Los Angeles in 2019, it has since become a tradition that my SoCal friends and I meet up at least once every summer for an overnight hiking trip.  In 2019 we hiked Mount Shasta together, last year was Big Pine Lakes, and this year, we would be hiking Little Lakes Valley.  The plan was to spend the night at a campsite that Iris and Dave had reserved at Convict Lake, then drive to the trailhead the next morning.  I had never been to Little Lakes Valley before and when I left home that afternoon, I didn't quite know what to expect or what my friends had in mind in terms of what time they wanted to start or how far they wanted to hike.  The seven hour drive to Convict Lake from Sunnyvale was relatively calm, and showcased some beautiful forest and mountain scenery.  After the first couple of hours of driving through farmland, the route ascended up through the Sierra Nevada mountains, and  eventually make the big climb over Sonora Pass.  This stretch of highway 108 is notorious for being one of the steepest and highest highway passes in California, approaching a grade of 26% in some areas, and cresting at 9,600 feet of elevation over Sonora Pass.  I completed this ascent just as the sun was setting, which made it much easier to tackle, as opposed to last year when I had to contend with the drive in the dark.  Highway 108 eventually dumped me out onto highway 395, where I turned right and continued south through the town of Bridgeport, past Mammoth Mountain, and followed the dark, winding road into the campground at Convict Lake, where Iris and Dave were awaiting my arrival.  They had driven up from their home in Rancho Cucamonga and arrived a few hours earlier.  Sitting around the fire and catching up with them, beer in hand, I was instantly at ease when they mentioned their plans for going on an easy hike the next day.  After a solid month of being busy at work and finishing the Badger fifty-miler two weeks prior, it was exactly what I had in mind.  Eventually our friend Tony showed up, who had also driven up from Southern California.  Shortly after midnight, we packed it in for the night.  Tony, Dave, and Iris set up their tents and I folded the seats down in the back of my Rav4 and created a makeshift sleeping area with my pillow, sleeping bag, and sleeping pad.

                                         Rock Creek with Bear Creek Spire in the background

I awoke the next morning at 5:45 AM after sleeping surprisingly well.  One thing I love about waking up in nature, especially in the mountains, is that the sun always seems to rise earlier than at home and as the sun rises, I tend to wake up with it.  As I stood outside sipping from a paper cup of instant coffee, I admired the surroundings.  We were treated to a beautiful starry sky the night before, and now the sun was lighting up the towering peaks that surrounded the campsite.  I felt a great energy coursing through my veins and I was excited for what lay ahead.  Our hike ended up being exactly what I had hoped for.  We drove thirty minutes to the trailhead and began around 7:45 AM.  The route began at Mosquito Flat trailhead, which lies at around 10,000 feet of elevation.  Our nine mile hike featured only modest elevation gain, reaching a peak of around 10,600 feet, and took us past the beautiful Gem Lakes and Rock Creek.  As we took a break for lunch, we admired how blue and clear the mountain lakes were.  Like most lakes in the Sierra Nevada mountains, the Gem Lakes are formed by snow and glacier melt and the water is typically very cold, clear, and clean.  Several prominent mountain peaks dominated the horizon in the distance in front of us.  One of those peaks was Beak Creek Spire.  "I wonder which route Nemo took to get up there?" Tony asked.  Although the overall mood of the trip had been very positive thus far, it had turned into a somber moment as the four of us stared off into the distance.  Nemo Hernandez, a good friend of ours, had set out on a solo trip from Mosquito Flat over fourth of July weekend, six weeks earlier.  He never returned and tragically, his body was found several days later by a search and rescue team.  He was a fanatical hiker and rock climber, and had attempted a solo climb up to the peak of Bear Creek Spire.  Nobody knows the exact circumstances of what transpired, but we speculated that he slipped during his climb and apparently fell to his death.  The news of Nemo's untimely demise was a shock to our community and all of us were deeply saddened by the loss.  He was a healthy guy with a family, and had such a zest for life.  Then he was gone in a flash.  I had not seen him in a few years, but we had formed a bond through hiking together and running races.  We concluded that he likely continued along one of the few trails that led from the Gem Lakes over a ridge to the base of Bear Creek Spire, but being the animal that he was, we also wondered if he just free climbed the ridge as a shortcut.  These questions will forever go unanswered.  In the end, he died doing what he loved in his happy place, and he will be forever missed.  After paying our respects to Nemo, we headed back down the trail to the parking lot taking in the beauty of our surroundings along the way. 

                                                 The crest of Sonora Pass on Highway 108

                                    

We were back down to the parking lot by 2:00 PM, enjoyed some hamburgers and beers in Bishop, and I was back on the road to head home by 4:15 PM.  I had once again made it over Sonora Pass in daylight, much to my relief.  The summer before, I drove over the pass in the dark both ways, and the return trip was especially not fun.  I was sleep deprived and exhausted from the long hike and the steep road and sharp turns in the dark really put me on edge.  This year was much better because not only was it easier in daylight, but I could also enjoy the amazing scenery that the drive had to offer.  I ended up getting home around 11:15 PM that night, a fairly decent time.  Overall, it was an excellent trip.  Logistically, it was a huge improvement from last year, and it really couldn't have gone any smoother.  In 2020 when we hiked Big Pine Lakes, I had left the Bay Area later in the evening, gotten to the trailhead in the middle of the night, gotten maybe two hours of sleep, hiked sixteen miles, got a later start on the drive home, and arrived back home at 2:30 in the morning.  It was still fun, but this year was much better, logistically.  And why was it better?  Because I had decided to take it easy.  It doesn't always have to be a situation where I'm crushing through huge miles in hard terrain on virtually no sleep, then driving home and arriving in the middle of the night, half dead.  I realized after this trip that sometimes going easy and allowing more time for rest and logistics can make all the difference.  It was a cool experience and a valuable lesson.   

The Badger 50-Miler Part 2: PR or DNF

There were about a hundred or so of us in a pack as we made our way over a small bridge just outside of the park and towards the Badger State Trail.  I had gotten caught up in the moment and realized shortly before crossing the bridge that I had forgotten to queue up my GPS watch.  After all, it wasn't something I was exactly used to doing.  After several months of contemplating, Sam brought to my attention that Garmin Instinct GPS watches were on sale.  I took advantage of the deal and in June I began using a GPS watch for the first time in nearly two years.  As the course left the streets of Belleville for the trail, I started talking to this dude who was a local guy doing his second ultra.  We were only about a mile in, which for me is pretty early in a race to be chatting with people.  Normally I prefer to take some time during the first five miles or so to find my groove when I do ultras, but we were having an engaging conversation, so it felt good.  His name was Dylan.  He had done a 50K once before and this was his first 50-Miler.  He was a younger guy and attended grad school nearby where he studied fungi.  I immediately thought of Sam because although she majored in psychology, biology remains one of her lifelong passions.  We ran side by side and continued chatting as we made our way along the course.  The terrain we were running on was a wide dirt track which was dissected by a grassy strip down the middle.  Although the ground was smooth and gentle, I decided it was best to wear my Hoka Speedgoat trail shoes for not only when the terrain became less pleasant, but also for extra grip.  We soon came upon the first aid station, which was at a junction where the trail meets a back country road.  Dylan stopped at the aid station, so we parted ways for the time being, and I continued along the course, which had deposited me onto a short road section.  This part of the course was a bit of a detour.  The original route was set up in such a way that we would continue on the trail and run through the Stewart Tunnel.  The tunnel lied about a mile or so up the trail and was approximately a quarter of a mile long, however it was closed off due to flooding issues.  It was also deemed unsafe to run through due to the poor condition of the ceiling section.  This course detour on the road would take us around the Stewart Tunnel and we would eventually pick the trail back up after bypassing the tunnel section.

Despite some rolling hills, the road section was pretty decent.  I caught up with a few other runners: Skip and Gavin, both from Indiana, and Brendan, a college student from the Chicago suburbs.  The four of us motored along together for a little while and we soon arrived at the Hollywood aid station, where I had been hanging out the night before.  Many of the volunteers were still there and taking care of us while operating on two or three hours of sleep.  Some of them recognized me from the night before and asked how my race was going.  "So far so good" I answered.  So far so good, but I was only nine miles into the fifty-mile distance.  The course was an out and back route, turning around at the junction where the trail meets Town Center Road in Monroe.  How would I feel when I passed through this aid station again at mile forty-one?  Only time would tell.  With my water bottles topped off with UCAN and water, I resumed forward progress down the straight, flat trail.  The next several miles offered nice vistas of farmland and rolling green hills.  The surroundings were pretty typical of rural recreational trails in the Midwest.  The route mainly traveled through farmland with a tunnel of trees and brush surrounding both sides of the trail.  When a majority of the forest was cleared out for farmland back in the day, they spared the trees surrounding the trail to add shade and a wilderness vibe to make the experience more enjoyable.  Occasionally there would be a rock wall on either side of the path and there was the occasional railroad bridge above as I passed by underneath.  I kept Skip, Gavin, and Brendan within eyesight, but the next several miles were run solo.  After another road section I heard footsteps coming up behind me.  "Hey, what up?" I said without turning my head.  "Hey, is that Liam?" the voice answered.  It was Gio, a member of the TJM Nation, who I had met the afternoon prior at the race HQ in Belleville County Park.  He had traveled from the Denver suburbs to participate in the 50-Miler.  We chatted for a brief moment before he continued on.  As I continued along, Gio, along with Skip, Gavin, and Brendan slowly faded away in the distance and were eventually out of sight.  I glanced at my watch and noticed my pace had been steadily slowing over the last few miles.  Dylan soon caught up with me and we exchanged some small talk but soon, he too was down the trail and out of sight.  I tried to not let my slowing pace derail me, knowing that it was to be expected that I would slow down as the race went on.  Still though, I had not reached the halfway point of the journey.  Skip, Gavin and Brendan eventually ran past me coming the other way, so I figured it would be coming up soon.  Sure enough, within a few minutes the aid station at Town Center Road appeared in the distance.  I was greeted enthusiastically by the volunteers when I arrived, one of them being Azam, another notable TJM Nation member.  Although I still felt good, I acknowledged to the group my concern with the fact that my pace had steadily slowed over the last several miles.  They assured me that I had plenty of time to finish and that I should not worry.  I knew they were right, but still, my mind dwelled on the thought of getting a DNF (Did Not Finish) because I didn't make the cut off time.  I knew I would finish if I just kept moving, but would it be fast enough?  We would have to see.  I ate a couple of Pop Tarts, and with my water bottles topped off, I headed back down the trail to tackle the second half.  All I had to do now was get back in time for the cut off.  I just hoped that I could do it.

Allow me to explain my concern over not making the cut off time.  This was my third 50-mile race and the other two I ran had taken me twelve and a half hours and a little over fourteen hours.  One of those was virtual.  The cut off for this race was twelve hours.  Given the relatively flat and gentle terrain, the timing was logical, but twelve hours is a little on the aggressive side for a 50-mile cut off.  This meant one thing: I would either have my best 50-mile time yet, or I would get a DNF.  Pure and simple.  PR or DNF.  Those were my two choices.  I had experienced various waves of self doubt over the last several miles, but during the early miles of the return journey, reality set in pretty loudly.  To quote Kevin Hart, "shit got real".  As I plodded along, my mind drifted to a particular sketch from Kevin Hart's "Laugh at My Pain" comedy show in which he tells the story of when he threw a birthday party for his five year old daughter and hired a guy to dress up like SpongeBob.  Apparently things didn't go as planned, and Kevin got into a heated confrontation with SpongeBob because the guy kept taking the top of his costume off and smoking cigarettes in front of the kids.  So, Kevin told him to put the goddamn costume back on and put the cigarettes out "before shit gets real out here".  Shit was getting real out here.  Not because I was about to get into a fist fight with a guy in a SpongeBob costume, but because I was worried that I would have the letters DNF listed next to my name in the race results.  At this point I was on pace for about a ten and a half hour finish, but I knew that I would gradually slow down as I kept going.  After departing the Gutzmer Road aid station at mile thirty-seven, I began doing some pretty hardcore trail math on my cell phone calculator.  I had about a half marathon's distance left to cover and I calculated that I would need to maintain around a twenty-six minute per mile pace to finish on time.  I was averaging well over that pace and even if I slowed dramatically, I'd be moving faster than that, unless something unthinkable happened.  By the way, after all that, SpongeBob then proceeded to curse Kevin out and inform him that he was fresh out of jail and he was only there to get paid.  I laughed to myself out loud on the trail as the sketch flashed through my mind.  As the miles clicked off, my concern over not beating the cut off time gradually melted away.  I kept doing trail math, and each time I knew I could maintain a faster pace than the one I needed to finish in twelve hours.  I felt mentally lifted as I drifted into the Hollywood aid station at mile forty-one and took a seat for a few minutes to be off my feet.  The crowd was giving off great energy, and just before I left, Holly, Dan, Kyle, Myself, and a few others raised a toast with shots of Fireball.  It was one hell of a send off.

The Fireball shot carried me along nicely.  That is until I came upon the road section that served as the detour around the Stewart Tunnel.  In the early stages of the race I had no issue with this section, in fact it was rather pleasant.  This time though, it was a straight up suck fest.  My pace slowed dramatically as I was forced to walk over the rolling hills on the back country road.  Every step hurt and my progress was sluggish at best, even on the downhill sections.  I was no longer worried about not making the cut off.  At this point, I was just in a lot of pain and wanted to be done.  It was time to dig deep and use that psychological strength I had brewing to get through these next few miles until I was back on the trail.  I eventually cleared the final aid station and got back on the trail for the final three and a half mile stretch.  Norbird, one of the volunteers at the final aid station, wrapped a cloth dunked in ice water around my neck, which put some life back into me.  With a mile and a half left, I came up behind an older looking gentleman using trekking poles and walking at a swift pace.  By the way he was moving, I was pretty sure he was a hundred-mile runner.  In the early stages of the race, several hundred-mile runners passed by me going the opposite way on pace for around a thirty to thirty-three hour finish.  Some looked pretty alert, others were so wrecked that all they could do was give me a blank look and a nod when I offered kudos.  This guy was one of the more alert guys.  I found out that he was indeed doing the hundred-miler, and get this, he was seventy-eight years old!  I gave him a knuckle pound and continued on past him, but the inspiration that I felt from that brief encounter was enough to keep me moving steady until I reached the final stretch, where the course leaves the trail for the streets of Belleville.  As I ran through the park and towards the finish line, I could hear the loudspeaker:  "And now we got Liam, who came all the way from Sunnyvale, California, completing his fifty-miler".  I threw my arms into the air in celebration and crossed over the finish line in eleven hours and sixteen minutes.  Scott Kummer put a medal around my neck and I immediately gave him a big hug and thanked him for putting on such an awesome race.  As mentioned earlier, during this race I was faced with two options: PR or DNF.  I thanked my lucky stars that nothing crazy happened and I was able to have the first option as the end result.  I wore a big smile on my face as more people offered hugs and kudos.  Skip, Gavin, Dylan, Gio and Brendan had also killed it out there, and I was super happy for them as well.  Not too long after my finish, Ian, the seventy-eight year old hundred-mile runner ran across the finish line sending the crowd into a roaring frenzy.  After enjoying some free pizza and beer in the finish area and hanging out with the rest of the crowd, I returned to the motel, cleaned myself up, and told Sam the whole story over the phone.  The next day was Monday, and the first day of month end close for July, so I had to multi task by working about three quarters of a work day from a Starbucks in Janesville before traveling back to O'Hare International Airport to catch my flight back to San Francisco that night.  

Another great ultramarathon experience in the books.  Every year brings new races, new adventures, and plenty of stories to tell.  I had a lot of fun traveling back to the Midwest, getting a fifty-miler in, and getting to know so many awesome people from the TJM Nation.  The story about the Badger 50-Miler experience would continue to linger in my head for weeks afterwards, not just because it was such great fun, but because I've been so damn busy, that I'm just now getting this piece written three and a half weeks after the race.  Oh well.  Time to get ready for Broken Arrow!

   

The Badger 50-Miler Part 1: Fun Times In Belleville

A soft chime abruptly woke me up from my half-asleep, dream like state.  My legs were stretched out as far as they could go underneath the airplane seat in front of me, and I laid back, head off to the side, facing the aisle.  The flight crew announced that we would be landing in about twenty minutes.  As I yawned and rubbed my eyes I looked out the small window across the aisle.  It was about 6:15 AM local time on Saturday morning, the darkness had disappeared outside, and the rising sun was firing orange light across the sky.  My redeye flight from the San Francisco airport to Chicago had been fairly uneventful, but my journey would not be ending here.  After we landed I would be jumping into a rental car and driving two and a half hours up to the town of Belleville, Wisconsin.  From what I could recall, the only real time I ever spent in Wisconsin was when I used to go up there on weekends to snowboard at Devil's Head and Alpine Valley back when I lived in Chicago.  The drive was around two hours, so it was an easy day trip.  Based on some research I had done prior to hopping on the plane in San Francisco, Belleville was a town of about 1,800 people and was presumably, by all accounts, your average Midwestern rural town.  I would say probably 95% of the time it's a pretty quiet place.  It's a small community with a simple way of life, and nothing overly exciting really happens there.  Except for this upcoming weekend.  From Saturday morning until Sunday evening the Badger Trail Races put on by the Ten Junk Miles podcast based in Chicago were coming to town.  This meant that 400 and something runners from all over the country would be pouring into this town of 1,800 people over the weekend.  The Badger is a fairly new race, having been created in 2019.  The hosts of Ten Junk Miles had spent a lot of time logging miles on the Badger State Trail and loved the community so they said "why not create our own race, right here!"  Since then, the races have received overwhelming support from the community.  The towns people liked that these folks were coming to visit their area and support their businesses.  The positive response from the town as well as runners from the inaugural Badger Trail Races prompted the creation of two more events; the Last Dot Standing 24 hour race in October, and the Sugar Badger Trail Races in May.  As a result, Belleville has become somewhat of a tourist attraction within the Ten Junk Miles nation.

Once we touched down in Chicago, I shuffled my way through O'Hare International Airport to the rental car counter.  I checked in, got my keys, jumped into the Mitsubishi Outlander I rented, and began the trip north.  I made it about thirty minutes outside of Chicago before drowsiness set in.  I suck at sleeping on airplanes.  It's hard for me to get comfortable and I'm usually in and out of consciousness, rather than fully asleep.  I decided it was best to pull off the freeway for a snooze before I wind up in a ditch.  A couple of hours later with my energy partially restored, I carried on through the countryside.  I crossed over the state line into Wisconsin and the terrain was flat and green with farmland and silos dominating the horizon as far as I could see.  I was excited to be here but I missed Sam.  Thanks to her hard work with growing her business, she had a lot of new pet sitting gigs lined up, one of them happening this weekend.  The Badger Trail Races offered every distance from a 100-mile ultramarathon to a half marathon.  Something for every runner, as I like to think of it.  Sam surely would have enjoyed running this course.  I missed her, but I knew she'd be cheering me on in spirit from back home while I progressed through the fifty miler, which started at 6:00 AM the next morning.  After a filling brunch at an IHOP in Janesville, I eventually arrived in Belleville.  It was early afternoon and the hundred miler was in full swing.  The runners began at 6:00 AM in the town of Orangeville, near the Illinois/Wisconsin border.  From there, they would make their way along the Badger State Trail through Belleville, turn around at the aid station at Dot's Tavern, head back to Orangeville, then come back again to the finish line in Belleville.  Once I pulled into town I headed for Belleville Community Park which served as the race headquarters and the finish line for all distances.  I parked across the street and as I walked through the park I spotted in the distance in front of me the Ten Junk Miles Racing inflatable banner situated next to the park pavilion, which had been transformed into an aid station and packet pick up area.  I met Kyla, the wife of Scott Kummer, who was the main host of the podcast.  She checked me in and handed me a bag with my race bib and lots of goodies inside.  Although Kyla is not a runner herself, she plays a key role in the making the races run smoothly.  She does a lot of work behind the scenes like assembling race packets, checking in runners, and overseeing the merchandise shop while being a wonderful support system for Scott and us runners.  As I mingled with the spectators and volunteers I recognized a lot of names from the podcast and was having fun putting faces with names.  Hundred mile runners passed through the aid station set up in the pavilion which was at about mile thirty-nine.  Some looked fresh, others looked beat up, but they were all still moving.  

After some time I made my way over to the Hollywood aid station to hang out with the crowd over there.  The aid station derived it's name from Holly Lindroth, a co-host of the podcast, who was the aid station captain.  Which means that she would spend the entire weekend managing volunteers, sleeping in a trailer here and there, and doing all that she could to ensure that us runners would have a badass time out there.  The aid station was nine miles down the trail from Belleville Community Park but thirteen miles away by car.  I drove along the country roads through more Wisconsin farmland before entering a residential neighborhood in Monticello.  I passed by a few houses and came upon a small factory before the street came to a dead end at the trail.  The bustling aid station was set up near the end of the road on the trail side with music playing and lots of provisions including massive bottles of Jeppson's Malort and Fireball which were available to runners if they chose to partake in such shenanigans.  After spending more time chatting with people and cheering on runners, I headed up to the town of Verona, ten minutes outside of Belleville to check into my hotel.  I was staying at a Super 8 Motel and the room was pretty basic, but I wasn't going to be spending much time in there over the weekend, so I didn't really need much.  As long as it was quiet at night, the shower worked, and there were no bed bugs, it was fine by me.  It was definitely better than the motel room that Sam and I stayed in earlier in the year while on a road trip, which had holes burned in the bed blanket from cigarettes.  I unpacked and took a shower, but I was eager to get back to Belleville and cheer on more runners and hang out at the aid stations.  Once I was back in town I popped into J&M Bar on Main street to have some dinner.  I wondered if I was going to get some weird looks from the locals because I wasn't from around there, but then I remembered it was race weekend.  Other runners were hanging out inside and the locals told us how excited they were for us as I nibbled at my fries and chicken strips.  People were stoked about the fact that I had come all the way from California and it took a little longer to get out of there than I had originally planned because I was having fun chatting it up with people inside the bar.  Once I made it back to the Hollywood aid station, the party in the middle of nowhere was still in full force and this time around, runners were coming through at both the forty-eight mile mark and the ninety-one mile mark.  The course route was an out and back and out again, so runners passed through this aid station three times.  The runners who were passing through for a final time had nine miles to go and were going for a seventeen or so hour finish, while some of the runners coming through the forty-eight mile mark were in dire need of help.  We had one guy who sat there for a while and was planning to drop because his feet were in such bad shape.  Holly fixed them up with some first aid tools, but there's a big psychological factor involved when it comes to moments like these.  In real life situations outside of ultra running, it's not realistic to be positive all the time.  I've learned the hard way over thirty-five years that it's not healthy to bury negative feelings and minimize physical and emotional pain.  Instead of repressing negativity it's better to acknowledge it and find ways to overcome it.  But when someone is on the verge of quitting a hundred miler, there's only room for positivity.  If they say it's too hot, tell them they just need an ice soak and they'll kick that race's ass.  If they're scared because their feet are battered, tell them their feet will recover eventually and they'll be fine.  Sometimes the right words at the right time can be what ultimately gets a runner to the finish line.  

By the time I left the aid station at 10:30 PM to go back to the hotel for the night, the runner with the battered feet was still sitting in a camping chair at the aid station, so I'm not sure if he was able to go on.  As I drove along the pitch black road, I passed an intersection with the trail and saw the beams of headlamps from more runners in the distance making their way to the aid station.  During the drive I thought about how fun it was to be the guy cheering on runners at the aid stations instead of running myself, for once.  Watching these hundred mile runners chase the finish line, some for the first time, was an inspiring experience and the fact that I was possibly making a difference in their race by giving off good vibes was a powerful tonic.  My thoughts were interrupted when I had to abruptly hit the brakes.  About a dozen glowing eyes appeared in the road out of nowhere, and when the car came to a stop I saw in the beams of the headlights that I had almost taken out five or six racoons who were just chilling on the pavement, apparently oblivious to the fact that they had come inches away from meeting their destiny on this lonely dark road.    I slept surprisingly well that night and was in a dead sleep when my alarm went off at 4:30 AM the next morning.  There was a McDonald's right next door to the motel so I went through the drive thru and got some coffee and a couple of sausage burritos, which I wolfed down during the fifteen minute drive to the start line.  I arrived just as Scott, who served as the race director, was beginning the pre-race briefing over a PA system.  A few hundred mile runners came through the finish line, finishing in around twenty-four hours and after the national anthem was played, us fifty mile runners made our way up to the start line beneath the Ten Junk Miles race banner.  I briefly chatted with a few people I had met the day before and at 6:00 AM on the dot the horn went off and we charged across the start line through the park and towards the trail.  

 

 

Back To The Midwest

In March of 2018 I was getting myself ready for an epic challenge.  I had DNF'ed at The Canyons 100K the year prior and with the 2018 event about a month away at the time, I was putting in some big miles to prepare myself for redemption.  Easter and Passover weekend happened to land on the last weekend of March that year, so I hopped on a flight from Los Angeles to Detroit to spend a long weekend with my family.  And to do something else pretty exciting that would help with my Canyons training.  I had recently discovered that there was a thirty-three mile trail that ran from my college town of Kalamazoo to South Haven, a beach town on Michigan's west coast.  I successfully completed the thirty-three mile one way trek to South Haven, beginning at the trailhead in Kalamazoo, however the adventure did not end as planned.  I intended to get a ride from an Uber in South Haven back to my car, which was parked at the trialhead in Kalamazoo, then drive back to my dad's house.  There were no Ubers in South Haven.  Living in Los Angeles, I took things like Uber for granted and should have expected that I wouldn't be able to find one in small, modest beach town in Michigan.  Long story short, there were no other transportation options available, and all I could do was call my sister and ask her to drive out to South Haven from our hometown, which was three hours away and come get me.  When she didn't pick up, I had to call my dad.  After a long pause and a sigh of frustration, he finally said "I'll be there in a little while".  When he arrived, he was proud of me for having knocked off thirty-three miles, but not thrilled that he had to waste his evening driving to South Haven to pick up his thirty-one year old son who should have known better.  I think I also got a bit of a free pass because he was happy to have me home from California for a long weekend.

But before that happened, the run was fantastic.  I ran along a nice, smooth crushed limestone path through wilderness and farmland in rural Michigan, passing through several small towns along the way.  Several stretches of the route were very remote and when I reached one of the towns along the way, the trail would come to an intersection with a road and I'd run past a few small establishments and the occasional park.  Then it was back to forest and farmland.  The run was so nice because it had a real Midwestern feel to it.  Flat, some forest, some farmland, lots of intersections with back country roads, and lots of small towns along the way.  With the Badger 50-miler coming up on August 1st (one week from today as I type this), I found myself reminiscing about the run I did three years ago in Michigan.  As I did my research, I began to realize that this race will likely have a very similar vibe to the run I did from Kalamazoo to South Haven.  The race itself is held in Wisconsin, starting in the small town of Belleville, about twenty miles southwest of Madison.  The course is an out and back route beginning at a local park and turning around in the town of Monroe, which lies pretty close to the Illinois/Wisconsin border.  In addition to the 50-mile course, there are also 100-miler, 100K, 50K, marathon, and half marathon options available, and all races follow the same route.  Something for everybody, as I like to think of it.  The route is held entirely on the Badger State trail and Jane Adams trail.  The path is mainly composed of sand, dirt tracks, and crushed limestone with no technical sections, according to the race manual.  In fact, the organizers have described the 100-mile race as "a thirty-six hour cut off and the course is flat as shit".  It could turn out to be not what I'm expecting of course, but I'm looking forward to participating in another Midwest race.  And by that, I mean running a nice flat course, and having an experience similar to the one I had when running from Kalamazoo to South Haven in March 2018 and participating in the Minnesota Voyageur that summer, and the St. Croix Winter Ultra in January 2020.  I love California ultramarathons, but ultras in the Midwest have a different personality to them.  It's a different vibe and a different feel, and I like it!  

Another reason why I'm looking forward to next weekend is, well, it's nice to be doing in-person races again!  Even now, I'm trying not to take live races for granted because we never know what could happen, we can only hope.  And if you're wondering why I chose this 50-miler in particular, it's because the organizers are also hosts of a running podcast based out of Chicago that I've been listening to for a few years now.  Ten Junk Miles is a great podcast to listen to if you like to laugh and enjoy hearing stories about ultrarunning while occasionally learning a few things about running.  It's not a good podcast to listen to if you're all business and take running super seriously.  I intended to run another of their 50-milers (The Sugar Badger) in May of 2020, however the pandemic forced the cancellation of the race and I ended up doing a virtual Sugar Badger, a fifty-mile rally along El Camino Real while getting support from my friends along the way.  I don't know exactly how I will perform, but I'm hoping for the best.  The last several months of my life have been good, but busy, and aside from Western States Training camp, which consisted of running fifty miles on the Western States trail over a two day period at the end of May, I haven't done any super long distance training.  My plan is to just do what I can and although I don't have a lofty goal in mind, I'm hoping to finish in ten to ten and a half hours.  We'll see.  My main goal is to have fun and enjoy the race.  The weather so far seems to be cooperating.  We're looking at party cloud skies with low sixties in the morning, low eighties in the afternoon, which is pretty typical of Wisconsin in August.  Two things I know I'll need to be wary of are higher humidity levels and bugs, probably mosquitos.  After all, California is drier than Wisconsin and I'm used to not having to worry about dampness in the summer air.  Higher humidity means more sweating, which means I will need to make sure I monitor my fluid and electrolyte intake carefully.  If I don't, I could cramp up or suffer from heat related nausea and things could go to hell pretty quickly.  Luckily, there will be plenty of well stocked aid stations out there to take care of us, the furthest gap between aid stations being seven and a quarter miles, according to the chart.  When it comes to dealing with mosquitos, I'll just need to remember to spray myself down with bug repellent.  That should do the trick.  

Focusing on work will be more challenging this week as the excitement continues to build up, but with July month end pre-close coming up, it will be important for me to re-direct my attention as much as possible.  My career is important to me, but once I finish work for the day on Friday, get on that red eye flight from San Francisco to Chicago on Friday night, then make the two hour drive from Chicago to Belleville on Saturday morning, I'll be hoping for an unforgettable race experience at the Badger.  I'm looking forward to doing another Midwest race and hanging out with the Ten Junk Miles crew and nation.  Unfortunately, Sam will be working that weekend and won't be able to join, but I know she'll be there in spirit.  More details to come afterwards.  Until then, cheers!