The Role of a Pacer: Burney Mountain 100-miler Edition Part 2

The finish line at the Burney Mountain Guest Ranch

Brianna arrived at the aid station at around 7:30 AM.  She looked tired, which was to be expected.  But overall, she was holding it together really well.  Upon arrival, she immediately took a seat by the fire while Nick and the volunteers brought her coffee and food.  Even though the sun had risen, the cold mountain air still lingered.  I noticed Brianna was wearing a clear plastic trash bag over her running gear for warmth.  It turned out the summit of Burney Mountain, where she just ran down from, was only twenty-eight degrees.  She told us the climb up to the summit in the dark was pretty sketchy.  Kaitie accompanied her during most of the climb but at some point, they got separated from each other.  Areas of fog had developed near the summit.  The fog became so thick, Brianna felt as though she was running in a cloud.  She could only see as far as the beam of her headlamp, which only lit up the white fluffiness that surrounded her.  All she could see was the trail when she looked down and the dense fog that surrounded her when she looked forward.  Even under normal circumstances, this situation wouldn't be ideal, but when you're sixty miles into an ultramarathon, going on twenty-six hours of no sleep, and you can't see where you're going, the situation becomes rather frightening.  There were no lights and no other runners in sight.  As she marched up the trail through the foggy darkness, Brianna was feeling very isolated.  In a moment of distress, she called out "hello? Is anyone out there?".  It was an unsettling situation, but shortly afterwards, her and Kaitie found each other again.  She was relieved, but unfortunately the rendezvous didn't remedy the fact that it was cold, foggy, and windy.  At least they had each other to get through that rough spot.  The aid station crew at the summit wrapped her up in a sleeping bag, and she took a forty-five-minute nap.  It helped to restore her energy a little, but when she woke up shivering, she knew it was time to get moving again.  The volunteers put the plastic trash bag around her as a makeshift poncho, and from there, she descended the eight-and-a-half miles down the mountain into the sunrise and back to the aid station.

We took off together down the path, departing the aid station at around 8:00 AM.  Brianna had thirty miles left to cover and twelve-and-a-half hours before the cutoff.  As long as she kept putting one foot in front of the other, she would make it.  My job as the pacer was to do everything in my power to help her get to the finish line.  The rest of the course was mostly downhill and didn't have any major climbs, so I felt cautiously optimistic.  It's a hundred miles, so a lot of things could happen.  But at least at the moment, things looked pretty promising.  Brianna's knee was still hurting her, but she was able to mitigate the soreness by taking pain killers.  She assured Nick and I that she felt confident that she wasn't at risk of doing long-lasting damage to her knee, so we trusted that.  We hiked our way down a dirt road through the wilderness that would lead us to the Goose Valley Road aid station, eleven miles away.  Nick, Fierra, and Chevelle passed by us in the van along the way and cheered for us.  Even though we were able to pass the time by engaging in casual conversation, we were eager to get to the next aid station.  We were making good enough time that we could have hiked the rest of the race and still finished, but to calm Brianna's fears of missing the cutoff, we decided to get some time "in the bank".  We picked up the pace and ran a little bit here and there.  Brianna initially felt like she couldn't run anymore because of her knee pain, but to her surprise, she was able to shuffle for about a minute at a time.  Sometimes you just need to try something to see what you're capable of.

The Goose Valley Road aid station

The dirt road eventually deposited us onto Goose Valley Road, and the aid station came into view in a parking lot on the roadside.  It was a welcoming site.  A few of the race staff and volunteers had driven by us on the dirt road offering kudos and advising us that we were getting closer.  With an eleven-mile gap, it was one of the longest stretches between aid stations on the course.  Nick, Fierra, and Chevelle were waiting for us when we arrived.  One of the really exciting parts of this adventure was having Fierra and Chevelle witness their mom do something so extraordinary.  At twelve and ten years old, it seemed cool for them to witness firsthand how dedicated Brianna was and how anyone can do hard things if they put in the effort.  They were also used to spending a lot of time outdoors, so they seemed to enjoy carting around in the family van to the aid stations.  I'm sure Biscuit was enjoying the ride too.  The volunteers were cooking up breakfast quesadillas for the runners and the crew members on camping stoves.  They had all the fixings you could want.  Scrambled eggs, bacon, cheese, sausage, etc.  The volunteers and aid stations at this race were really top notch.  Many of the staff members and volunteers were friends and family members of Jen, the race director, and founding member of Intermountain Endurance.  Jen is a local runner from Burney who founded Intermountain Endurance to put on local races including this one, the Weekend at Burney backyard ultra, and the Great Shasta Rail Trail Races, which I ran in 2023 and 2024.  What kept me coming back year after year was this community and how cool the people were.  There was definitely a lot of local spirit in the air.  The breakfast quesadillas were delicious, and with our stomachs full, Brianna and I departed the Goose Valley Road aid station and made our way up a long a steady incline through a ranch.  Along the way we passed by Kaitie and gave her some words of encouragement.  She seemed to be managing well, and we were pretty sure we'd be seeing her again over the next several miles.

Making our way through the rail trail section

At the top of the incline the path deposited us onto a long, straight rail trail that would continue on for several miles through the wilderness.  Tall pine trees lined much of the path.  The temperature was comfortable, but when the sun felt hot, the trees did a good job of providing shade on the trailside.  Even though the path was straight and fully visible on the horizon, the scenery was beautiful.  At this point, Brianna was experiencing mild hallucinations.  She would see what she thought were animals, or people lying down off the side of the trail, but they kept turning out to be logs.  Hallucinating is a pretty common thing during 100-milers.  I've had my share of hallucinations during ultramarathons, and it's always a trip.  The best thing to do was to keep moving onward.  We came to a river crossing at mile eighty-six.  One of the volunteers at the last aid station advised us to cross the river using the path with mowed grass, otherwise we would be chest deep in water, versus knee deep if we went through the mowed grass.  Brianna and I made it across, then used a rope to hoist ourselves up the embankment.  From there, it was two miles along the rail trail to the next aid station at Black Ranch.  We paused there to spend a few minutes with the crew and volunteers, and refill our water and electrolytes.  Brianna's knee was still hurting, but the pain was manageable.  Over the last several miles we had been hiking and shuffling along.  When we left the Black Ranch aid station, we had twelve miles left to go, and the cutoff for the finish line was six hours away.  The pitch along the rail trail was relatively flat with only modest elevation change, so as we shuffled along and made up more time, our concerns about making the cutoff slowly melted away.  As long as there were no major issues, Brianna would beat the cutoff by plenty of time.  To her credit, she was holding it together really well, especially for her first 100-mile attempt.  We crossed the junction where the path intersected with highway 89 and came upon a water drop around mile ninety-six.  The finish line was getting closer with each step.  With four miles left to go, the course left the rail trail and diverted us onto the Pacific Crest Trail.  The path was narrow, and rugged in some areas.  We also would go long periods without seeing one of the red and white ribbons that marked the course.  We had a couple of instances where we wondered if we missed a turn, but then we would come upon a ribbon and realize that all was good.    

When we crossed the junction at highway 299, that meant we only had two miles left until the finish.  Brianna was dead tired, her knee was hurting, and she was running low on energy.  "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore" she said.  "Me no likey".  I couldn't help but chuckle to myself a little.  This is the beauty of ultrarunning.  It brings out so many emotions in people.  During marathons, most runners hit the wall sometime between mile twenty and mile twenty-three.  During a 100-miler, runners hit multiple walls.  And once enough miles are covered, the psychological barriers get stripped away and we get a firsthand look at the good, the bad, and the hilarious.  I gave Brianna some positive psychological encouragement and assured her that we were on the home stretch, and we'd be at the finish line before we knew it.  We made our way through the powerlines section and soon came upon a sign indicating that we had arrived at the Burney Mountain Guest Ranch, where the start and finish line were.  We spotted the finish line in the distance and began shuffling as quickly as we could.  As we got closer, we could see Nick, Fierra, Chevelle, Jen, and several other runners and volunteers cheering us on.  Brianna crossed the finish line at 6:30 PM, clocking in at exactly thirty-eight hours, with two hours to spare before the cutoff.  It was incredible to see!  We were all proud of her for the grit and determination she displayed along the way.  She had conquered the unthinkable and we were all super happy for her.  The whole crowd gathered around her and gave her hugs, congratulating her on her finish.  It was a really cool moment for Nick, Fierra, and Chevelle to witness.  I knew this was something they would remember for the rest of their lives.  Brianna was now a 100-mile finisher, and that would stick with their family forever.  Kaitie ended up coming in as the final runner, thirty minutes before the cutoff time, so it was great to see her finish as well.  It was an awesome day, and I was honored to be part of the journey. 

Finish line crew photo

Once the dust settled, Nick gave me a ride back to my car at the base of Burney Mountain aid station.  He, Brianna, and the rest of the family we're going to be camping at the Burney Mountain Guest Ranch that night and would be driving back home to the town of Volcano, California the next morning.  When we reached my car, the aid station had been packed up and hauled away, and my car was the only one left on the remote dirt path.  It almost looked as if nothing had happened.  This intersection of these dirt roads in the middle of the wilderness, where thirty runners had passed through over the last forty hours, was once again quiet and desolate.  Nick and I embraced in a hug and told each other we'd keep in touch.  We talked about all meeting up to run a half marathon together somewhere in between where we both lived, so hopefully we can make that happen.  Once I got back to my motel room, I got a good night of sleep and headed out early the next morning for the long drive back home.  It had been another successful 100-mile pacing weekend.  I was grateful that I could be part of another runner's journey to their first 100-mile finish.  The drive home passed by relatively quickly since I had so much to think about and such a cool experience to relive.  All of this is part of what keeps me going as an ultrarunner.  Above all, I missed Samantha and Aidan, and I was eager to get back home and see them.    

The Role of a Pacer: Burney Mountain 100-miler Edition Part 1

Sunset near Burney Mountain while driving back into town from the Cypress Trailhead aid station.

Most of time when I tell people that I'm going to pace a runner for a 100-mile race, I'm not sure if they fully understand what I'm talking about.  I think to some people it sounds so bizarre, they don't know what to make of it.  They simply can't wrap their heads around someone running a hundred miles, so they just say "cool, have fun with that".  I think other times, people think I'm going to be running a hundred miles around a track with a megaphone, calling out lap times and telling people they need to move their asses.  Not many people outside of the ultramarathon world understand at first, but I'd say about half of the time, people are intrigued and ask me to tell them more.  Once I explain it, they seem to understand and appreciate it.  Most 100-mile race participants have pacers for the second half of the race, or perhaps the last thirty or twenty miles.  Even the elite runners usually have someone there.  Pacers are often friends or family members who are crazy enough, and willing to share the adventure with the runners.  Pacing a runner during a 100-miler can mean a couple of different things.  When someone paces an elite runner who is competitive and going for the win, the experience is almost all business.  The pacer is expected to run seven to eight minute miles with the runner for at least twenty miles.  Additionally, they are expected to push the runner to their maximum potential, make sure they don't spend too much time at the aid stations, and make sure they're eating and drinking enough.  Basically, they're expected to be extremely efficient, and maximize the runner's chances of achieving their race goal.  But for most 100-mile race runners, particularly first timers, it's not quite as intense.  When people are pacing less competitive runners who are going for a thirty to thirty-five hour finish, their role is more focused on keeping the runner company so they keep moving.  The runner and the pacer will often share stories and engage in conversation to pass the time.  Most of the time, all these runners need is someone to talk to them, give them positive words of encouragement, make sure they're eating and drinking, and make sure they don't lose their composure or wander off course.  Rather than seven or eight minute miles, pacers are often half running, half hiking, or even mostly hiking the remaining miles of the race with the runner.

I've paced five runners at 100-mile races over the last seven years.  My specialty seems to be first timers going for a thirty to thirty-five hour finish.  Which means we're often hiking together through the mountains for the last thirty to forty miles of the race and occasionally running when we're able to.  It's equal parts work and play, and my approach to pacing runners is often lighthearted and fun.  I love pacing first time 100-mile runners.  An ultrarunner's first 100-mile race is something they always remember, and I love being part of that journey.  My favorite part is seeing their reaction when they cross the finish line.  That raw emotion that comes pouring out, knowing that they just conquered the unthinkable.  So, when the opportunity arose for me to pace a runner at the Burney Mountain 100-miler this past weekend, I jumped all over it.  Brianna, the runner I was going to be pacing, chose the Burney Mountain 100 as her first 100-miler, having made the decision to sign up just three months prior.  We touched base often on her training and progress.  She trained quite a bit in those three months, but the longest distance she logged was a single thirty-three mile training run.  That's not very much distance to cover for preparing for a 100-miler, but she felt confident and determined that she could finish.  The plan was for me to pace her for the last thirty miles from the aid station at the base of Burney Mountain to the finish line at the Burney Mountain Guest Ranch.  Her husband, Nick, and her two daughters, Fierra and Chevelle, accompanied her on the trip, and were planning to be at the aid stations to crew for her. 

Charm Motel in Burney

I arrived in the town of Burney at 3:00 PM on Friday June 20th, 2025, after a ten-hour drive from Laguna Niguel.  The race had started at 4:30 AM that morning.  Although cell phone reception along the course was sporadic, Nick had been doing a great job with keeping me updated on Brianna's progress and letting me know when she was arriving at the aid stations.  He informed me that she had twisted her knee around mile seven.  It was painful, but she continued on, hoping it wouldn't turn into a major issue later on in the race.  When I arrived, I checked into my room that I had booked for the weekend at the Charm Motel off highway 299.  As much as I love living in Orange County, it was nice to be in a small, quiet town in a mountain wilderness setting for a couple of days.  I took a nap in my room for a couple of hours and woke up to a text from Nick letting me know that Brianna had left the Tamarack aid station at mile thirty-five and was on her way to the Cypress Trailhead aid station at mile forty-eight.  I headed out to go meet up with the crew in hopes of catching Brianna before she departed the aid station for the base of Burney Mountain.  The drive to the aid station was pretty fast until I made a right turn off highway 89 by the fire station near Hat Creek.  From there, it was a ten-mile rally through the mountains on a dusty, rugged dirt road with steep drop offs.  Even though it was sketchy at times, the scenery was beautiful.  I stopped my car periodically to take a moment to enjoy the picturesque setting.  The aid station was at a campground in the middle of the wilderness with no cell phone reception, but when I finally arrived, I quickly located Nick, Fierra, Chevelle, and their dog, Biscuit.  We lingered around the campground together as they told me about how wild of a day it had been.  They were having a good time but had a couple of stressful moments earlier on in the race when they were trying to locate the aid stations in the remote wilderness.  They had driven their van around the course from aid station to aid station and managed to make it to every single one in time to meet Brianna.  Being a crew member during a 100-miler can be taxing, and Nick, Fierra, and Chevelle were doing a fantastic job at making sure Brianna was being taken care of.  We talked a little about Nick's running history as well.  I got a good laugh when he told me he stopped to have a cigarette at mile nine of his last half-marathon, then went on to finish the race.

Brianna emerged on the trail and rolled into the aid station around 8:00 PM.  She had covered forty-eight miles in fifteen-and-a-half hours.  The race had a forty-hour cutoff, so she was making good time.  Aside from her knee giving her trouble, she looked pretty fresh.  She was tired, but not too haggard and beat up.  This was promising to see.  The halfway point of a 100-mile race can be tough.  Runners have been on the trail all day, and they have to mentally contend with the fact that they need to run fifty more miles, when they've already been through so much.  It can be overwhelming, but the best thing to do is just take it one mile and one aid station at a time.  After having some time off her feet and eating some noodles with soup broth, Brianna grabbed her polls and hit the trail once again, heading for the base of Burney Mountain at mile fifty-four.  From there, she would make the eight-and-a-half mile climb to the summit, then head back down to the aid station.  I bade the crew farewell for now and headed back into town to eat and get some rest for the night shift.  Based on Brianna's current pace, I expected she would be back down from Burney Mountain and reach the aid station at mile seventy-one around 4:00 AM, where I would meet up with her and pace her the rest of the way.  Even though I had a comfy bed in my motel room, I decided to head to the aid station after I ate dinner.  Rather than sleep at the motel I decided it would be less risky if I went to the aid station and slept in the back of my car until Brianna arrived.  That way I could just get there instead of taking the risk of getting lost trying to find the aid station and potentially having to make Brianna wait.  The drive along the dusty dirt road in the mountains was similar to the drive I had done a few hours earlier.  It was pitch black outside, and tall pine trees lined the dark, narrow path on both sides.  

The aid station finally emerged through the brush.  It was set up in a clearing where the dirt roads intersected.  The canvas tent was set up with a table full of snacks and provisions for runners, along with a propane fueled fire pit and several foldable chairs.  Cars from volunteers and crew members were parked along the dirt road.  I arrived shortly after 11:00 PM.  The aid station was fairly quiet in the nighttime wilderness, and a couple of runners sat near the fire trying to stay warm.  Beyond the light that the fire gave off, it was sheer darkness in every direction.  We were miles up into the mountains, far away from everything, with no cell phone reception.  This place was truly remote.  I was advised by a volunteer that Brianna had passed through and began her ascent up Burney Mountain just a few minutes prior.  She was making the ascent with Kaitie, a runner from Oregon, who she had been leapfrogging throughout the race.  It was a seventeen-mile roundtrip back to the aid station, so I figured she'd be back down in four to five hours.  I walked back to my car to get some sleep while I awaited her arrival.  I spotted Nick's van along the side of the road.  It was darkened, so I assumed he, Fierra, and Chevelle were hunkered down inside getting some sleep.  Once back at my car, I changed into my running clothes, folded the backseat down, and crawled into my sleeping bag.  Over the next several hours, I awoke sporadically but managed to get a little rest.  By 5:30 AM, the crack of dawn had filled the sky with vivid color.  I sat up, looked out my window, and saw Nick at the aid station, so I hopped out to check in with him.  Brianna was still tackling the trek up and down Burney Mountain, and Nick informed me that she expected to be down within a couple of hours.  I was glad to hear that she had made it through the night and was still going.  Even though it was the first day of summer, it was quite chilly outside, so I retreated back to my car and cozied up in my sleeping bag to stay warm until she arrived.  It had been a fun experience so far.  I laughed as I laid in my sleeping bag in my running gear.  "We're ultrarunners, this is what we do" I said to myself.  

  

Base of Burney Mountain aid station at dawn

The Race That DNF'ed Itself

One of my favorite movies in high school was Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  Even though that movie is almost forty years old, it still stands the test of time, even today.  It's a true classic coming-of-age comedy film.  One of the most memorable lines in the movie is in the beginning when Ferris says to the camera "life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it".  He's right.  Life has been moving pretty fast for me lately.  Between being a dad, being a husband, and balancing a career with my own interests and taking care of myself, things have been pretty on the go.  I would have loved to have written about my experience at the Newport Coast 50K sooner, but life happens.  Better to do it five weeks later than never, I suppose.

There is always a story to tell after an ultramarathon, and this one was no exception.  In fact, the experience was a first for me.  This was the first race I ever participated in that was cancelled after it was already underway.  I was climbing slowly up a hill along a wide trail in Crystal Cove State Park on race day.  The next aid station was only about a quarter of a mile away.  The heat had been quite brutal, so I was looking forward sitting down for a few minutes and regrouping at the check point before tackling the last ten miles to the finish line.  When the aid station eventually came into view at the crest of the hill, a volunteer saw me approaching and ran down the trail towards me.  "How's it going dude?" I called out as I waved.  "Pretty good" he responded.  "But, I got something to tell you" he continued.  "And you're looking pretty fresh, so this might be bad news for you".  I was confused. "What's up?" I asked.  "The race has been cancelled" he responded with a coy smile.  I burst into sudden fit of laughter.  "Are you messing with me man?" I asked.  He laughed too, but said that he was dead serious.  I was caught off guard for a second, but considering the events of the day that I had experienced so far, it made sense why the race director made the difficult decision to call off the remainder of the event.

I knew even before I arrived that morning that it was going to be a warm day.  It was mid-May in Southern California, so that wasn't super surprising.  Heat has knocked me on my ass pretty hard during some of my past ultras.  Who could forget my epic DNF at the Cool Moon 50-miler last year when I was lying down in the grass on the trailside, puking, while heat engulfed me?  I was hoping today wouldn't turn out like that.  A 50K is still a long distance, but I remained hopeful that I could grind my way through it despite the high temperatures, which were forecasted to be in the low eighties.  I followed the crowd of runners on foot down the road from my car to the Lower Moro Parking Lot where the start line was.  On my way there, I consumed some last minute electrolyte tablets to mitigate any cramping and dehydration.  The race got off to a pretty good start at 7:00 AM on the dot.  We had a powerful and uplifting send off from the race announcer, Andrea, a local running coach who is one of the founding members of the local kids running program, WeROCK.  As we made our way up into the hills of Crystal Cove, the views of the beach and the ocean appeared in front of us as we headed to the first aid station.  I could see the waves crashing on shore at the beach right across the street from the race start line several hundred feet below.  Although the view was spectacular, the temperature was beginning to climb.  I also learned ahead of time that this course was pretty exposed with very little shade.  I was enjoying myself, but I wanted to get as far along the trail as I could before the real heat kicked in.

The plan was for Samantha and Aidan to come meet me in the finish area after the race, and the three of us would head to the beach together for a little while.  Samantha has always been supportive of my ultrarunning, but she took a particularly strong interest in my participation in the Newport Coast 50K.  She was born in Los Angeles, but when she was ten years old, her family moved to Irvine, where she attended middle school and high school.  She knew Crystal Cove well, having spent lots of time at the beach and on these trails during her formative years and into her adult years.  She thought it was especially cool that I was running a 50K on her stomping grounds, and her excitement was a nice energy that carried me along the way.  I passed through the one somewhat shady spot of the course during a descent and ran past several tall mustard flower plants on single track trails.  I was treated to some more beautiful ocean views, followed by some nice views of the canyons, and I climbed and descended for several miles along the rolling terrain.

When I eventually arrived at the aid station at the midway point of the race, I was delighted to discover that they had popsicles and ice bandanas.  By then, the temperature was at least eighty degrees and I was drenched in sweat.  I thanked the volunteers and headed out to take on the second half of the race.  As the trail rolled on and the sun beat down, things started to get a little funky.  I cheered for the oncoming runners who were behind me and on their way to the aid station, but most of them looked pretty wrecked.  I was starting to feel a little wrecked myself from all the climbing and descending in the heat along the rolling hills.  At one point an oncoming runner emerged over the crest of the hill.  She was shouting into her cell phone and cursing out whoever was on the other end as she limped down the trail.  Apparently she needed a change of shoes and some foot lube.  Whoever was on the receiving end of that call was apparently responsible for supplying the items to her at the aid station.  At some point before her ranting became audible, she must have learned that they weren't at the aid station like she expected them to be, much to her dismay.  Emotions can run high during ultramarathons.  I continued to pass more oncoming runners over the next couple of miles.  Many of them were simply too exhausted and cooked from the sun to respond to my words of encouragement, other than giving a nod.  When I arrived at the nineteen mile mark, I saw two helicopters circling above the course.  That probably wasn't good news.  My viewing of the helicopters was interrupted by a brutal leg cramp.  It stayed with me for the next mile as I tried to shake it out.  

As I climbed the hill to aid station at mile twenty-one, I knew I was going to have to stop and regroup.  I felt as though I could still finish, but I needed to sit down, stretch out my leg cramps, and take in some cold liquid before I continued in this heat.  That was the aid station where I was informed that the remainder of the race was cancelled.  The volunteer explained that the intense heat was causing so much carnage along the course, the firefighters, paramedics, and medical staff who were onsite couldn't keep up.  They were being stretched too thin, and scrambled to attend to the numerous runners who were suffering from heat exhaustion.  I was told that at least two people needed to be airlifted off the course.  The aid stations ran out of water and provisions for the first time in sixteen years, even after several runs to the grocery store.  Unfortunately, we don't get to pick the weather on race day.  Things can go pretty sideways when mother nature doesn't cooperate.  The race director and staff made the tough decision to call the rest of the race off.  That was the right move.  It was better to go that route than to put the volunteers' and runners' safety in jeopardy.  I can honestly say I wasn't particularly upset about that decision.  In fact, I was kind of relieved.  I felt like I could have kept going, but it would have been ugly and painful.  We were routed down an alternate trail, which was a shortcut to the finish line.  All 50K runners would instead get credit for completing the 25K race.  The shortcut was about a mile from the finish line, so we covered twenty-two miles in total.  

I called Samantha and told her the news so she and Aidan could head out to meet me.  As I hobbled along the mostly downhill chute to the finish line, I chatted with other runners and inquired about how they felt about the race being cancelled.  Some were indifferent about it, like me.  Others were disappointed because it was supposed to be their first ultramarathon.  I could understand their frustration.  After I crossed the finish line and the dust settled, I rendezvoused with Samantha and Aidan.  We spent the next couple of hours at the beach near Moro Canyon, just north of Emerald Bay.  It was super nice.  Since it was a hot day, the area was thriving and it was nice to have a family beach day.  I later found out that the temperature on the race course that day was eighty-seven degrees.  That's freaking hot when you're running on an exposed trail.  It was unfortunate that the race was called off at mile twenty-one, but in my case, I didn't mind too much.  I guess it's because I've been doing this for a while.  There will be other opportunities to get my ass kicked on the trail in the heat.  But on this day, I had a much better time getting twenty-two trail miles in, not being totally destroyed, and chasing Aidan around in the sand.

Running in Advanced Darkness

A starry night in Big Bear Lake

Public interest in long distance running has certainly come a long way in recent years.  Nowadays, there seems to be more mainstream interest in the sport than ever before.  Even if long distance running has become somewhat trendy, running solo through the night and into the morning still remains an underground activity within the long distance running universe.  I enjoy running through the night by myself because of the solitude and peace and quiet that it brings.  It's probably a good thing that I enjoy it because I can't name a single one of my friends or anyone I know within the running community who would be willing to run with me through the night for enjoyment.  Night running requires more gear than running in daylight, with the main essential item being either a headlamp or a flashlight, or both.  Before I left my home in Laguna Niguel on Friday night, April 25th, I made sure that I had both, along with a reflective vest and reflective ankle bracelets.  This additional gear was required because where I was going to be running later that night wasn't just going to constitute normal darkness.  It was going to be in the wilderness, up in the mountains, miles away from anything darkness, at least in some areas.

Over the last several years while living in Silicon Valley, I've prepared for my upcoming ultramarathons each spring by doing an all-night run on highway 89 along the shore of Lake Tahoe.  This year I would be changing things up a bit and doing a twenty-mile through-the-night run along highway 18 and highway 38 around the circumference of Big Bear Lake.  It was a new adventure and I was looking forward to it, but like any running adventure, I was trying to approach it with caution.  I mapped out the route in advance, identified the more risky areas where I would need to be careful, and made sure I knew which direction to go and at which junction.  I left my home around midnight and arrived in the town of Big Bear Lake around 2:30 AM.  I parked my car in an empty space behind the darkened Grizzly Manor breakfast restaurant.  After I made my preparations, I stepped out of my car to get adjusted to the cold.  The temperature was right around thirty degrees Fahrenheit, and the cold mountain air was crisp and refreshing.  I stood next to my car examining my surroundings.  Except for the occasional car that passed by on Big Bear Boulevard, the town had long since shut down for the night.  I took off running down the main road through the heart of the town.  Even though every establishment I passed was closed, the setting was well lit.  I used only my headlamp during this section and saved my flashlight for the darker and more remote sections that I would be running through later on in the night.

                  Leaving town and heading into a dark section on highway 18

As I continued into the outskirts of town, the only signs I saw of human or animal life were the occasional passing car and a coyote.  I was pretty lit up, so it would be impossible for cars to not notice me as they drove by, so I wasn't too concerned about them.  When the coyote saw me approaching from a hundred feet away, he quickly ran away and his glowing eyes disappeared into the roadside wilderness.  I was glad to see that he retreated when he saw me, but I remained wary of my surroundings.  I eventually passed by the Big Bear Lake welcome sign off the side of highway 18 near the Castle Rock Trailhead.  When I stopped to take a selfie near the sign, I shut off all my lights so the flash would work correctly.  Once I took the picture and my phone went dark, I noticed my surroundings.  It was completely pitch black all around me with not a single sound to be heard.  Just sheer darkness, pure silence, and the cold mountain air.  I stood there taking it in for about ten seconds before I realized how scary it was.  "Oh, shit" I exclaimed as I fumbled to turn my headlamp and flashlight back on.  With my devices lighting the night back up, all was suddenly good again.  Our parents always told us when we were kids that the dark was nothing to be scared of, but damn.

I soon made a right at the lake onto highway 38 and headed for the town of Fawnskin.  The route I was running was at an elevation of about 6,700 feet, but I was handling the altitude pretty well.  I was enjoying myself, but at this point, things were starting to feel a little unsettling.  My whole world was confined to the beam of my headlamp and flashlight.  Beyond that was pure darkness.  I was now far away from the the town center of Big Bear Lake and miles away from my car and everything else.  Seeing a roadside sign warning motorists of potential bear crossings didn't help the situation either.  Let's face it, I'm probably a little nuts for putting myself in this situation.  This isn't something a normal runner would do, let alone a normal person.  It was approaching 4:00 AM, and everyone I knew was probably at home in bed sound asleep.  But here I was halfway through a twenty-mile through-the-night training run around Big Bear Lake.  Go figure.  I tried to not let the thoughts of fear take over my mind.  Yes, I was in a vulnerable situation and something could have happened, but I chose to focus on what I could control, and that was being aware of my surroundings.  It was a cloudless night in the mountains.  When I looked up, the sky was filled with shining stars and the tops of tall pine trees dominated the horizon.  It was a beautiful sight.  I thought about Samantha and Aidan, who, like everyone else, were sound asleep at home in bed.  I knew I belonged out here doing this.  It just felt right.

                                       Entering Fawnskin.  It was so dark!

                                              Sunrise around mile fifteen

I passed through Fawnskin and continued to enjoy the nighttime mountain setting.  Time passed, miles were covered, and at about mile fourteen I made a right turn off highway 38 onto Greenway Drive and headed towards Big Bear Boulevard.  At this point the crack of dawn was upon me.  The sun was starting to light up the eastern skyline and hit the tops of the pine trees on the horizon.  Watching a sunrise after running through the night never gets old.  A new day after rallying through the night brings a great sense of optimism and energy.  I reeled in the final miles in the chilly morning air and eventually arrived back at my car, completing the twenty miles.  It was a great adventure and I loved every minute of it.  Adventure is what I crave and these all-night training runs never fail to satisfy that craving.  After I took a few minutes to regroup, I headed into Grizzly Manor for some breakfast.  Even after twenty miles of running, the giant chocolate chip pancake I ordered still kicked my butt, and I needed a takeout box.  I felt hungry again when I was midway through the drive back home, so I rolled the leftover pancake up like a burrito while I was driving and chowed the rest of it down.  I left town just in time.  The clouds had rolled in during the morning and it began snowing pretty heavily about twenty minutes into my trip home.  It rained the rest of the way once I arrived back at sea level.  Thankfully the weather had somewhat cleared up by the time I arrived home, and I was able to spend some time with Aidan and Samantha at the park.  Needless to say when Aidan went down for a nap later on that day, I did too.

Even after twenty miles, I still couldn't finish it

        

How To Not Hate Running

Running is one of my favorite things to do in life.  Anyone who knows me well enough understands that.  I've been doing it for sixteen years, I've logged thousands of miles on pavement and trails, I've been writing this blog for eight years, and I've written a book about how running made my life better.  It's safe to say that running plays a big role in my life.  However, believe it or not, there was a time in my life when I hated running.  In June of 2008 I was taking a summer health and holistic class to get my final credits before college graduation.  Part of the class time was spent working out in the gym, and our professor gave us the freedom to do whatever exercises we pleased, as long as we logged enough hours in the gym to complete the course.  I enjoyed experimenting with gym workouts, but I distinctly remember how much I disliked running after I tried doing it on the treadmill.  During that time, I was drinking a lot of beer, eating a lot of unhealthy food, I was an occasional cigarette smoker, I stayed up late and slept in late, and I wasn't very physically active.  I weighed more than I do now, but I think the only reason why I wasn't overweight was because of all the walking I did around campus.  In other words, I was by no means, a runner.

Over the last few months I've met a handful of people around Orange County who have told me that they want to get into running, but they don't like it.  They want to like it, and they try to give it the benefit of the doubt, but the obstacles that they face while doing it make them feel discouraged.  When someone tells me they want to get into running but they hate it, the first thing I tell them is "I know what you mean, I've been there".  And that's because I really have been there.  Running can be brutal.  There's a reason why coaches make players run as a form of punishment in team sports.  It's not fun for a lot of people.  Runners warm up to the sport at their own pace.  Some become fanatics right out of the gate, and for others, it takes time.  People dislike running for various reasons.  Here are the most common reasons I've heard, and here's what I would say to people who want to overcome those challenges:

"I want to get into running, but after a mile, I'm dying and out of breath".  This often occurs because people are trying to run too fast or their breathing patterns are out of whack.  What people need to understand is yeah, you're going to be out of breath if you try to run too fast right from the beginning.  The advice I would give to those people is to slow down.  If you're dying after a one mile run, that's perfectly okay for a newbie.  Try running the mile at a slower, steadier pace, even to the point where you feel like you're going too slow.  Running slow is okay.  Trust the process.  We all have to start somewhere.  In most cases, if people can slow down, and get comfortable with running distance at a slower pace, their fitness will improve and the speed will come naturally over time.  To improve breathing patterns during running, I would recommend spending a couple of minutes every day taking deep, full breaths and letting them all the way out.  I remember doing that when I was training for my first half marathon and it really helped.  So, if you're dying after a one mile run, take things down a few notches, go nice and easy, and try to focus on good breathing patterns.

"I want to get into running, but when I run, my knees start to hurt and I get shin splints".  Again, I get it.  These things happened to me in my early days.  Weird pains that I never experienced before were popping up.  I don't give a damn what doctors say, or anyone else for that matter.  I'm going to set the record straight: running is not bad for your knees.  There are people who run well into their sixties and seventies who have been doing it for decades.  I've seen people in their nineties finish half marathons.  These folks are living proof that running doesn't murder your knees.  If I go see a doctor and they tell me I'm going to have bad knees because I'm a runner, I'm getting up and leaving.  If your knees are hurting or you're getting shin splints, I would encourage you to take a look at your form.  Most knee and shin pain comes as a result of coming down too hard against the pavement on the down stride.  When you're out running, are your steps heavy?  Do you find yourself stomping down on the pavement hard?  If so, try to lighten up your steps.  Try taking shorter, smaller strides, and lighter steps.  Imagine the ground is lava, and you want to minimize contact.  This technique weaves into slowing down your pace if you feel like you're out of breath and dying.  If you're experiencing pain, trying taking lighter steps, shorter strides, and minimizing contact with the ground.  That will help your body work these aches and pains out.

"I want to get into running, but I get bored.  When I run, I just want it to be over".  No one likes being bored, especially me.  Boredom is a really fast way to kill the joy in any activity that can be fun.  If you find running to be boring, I'd recommend trying things to make it more interesting.  Try putting on some good music.  Music that you brings you to a good place, psychologically.  To me, running and music are one of the best combinations in the world.  If you'd rather not wear headphones, try running in a place that you find comforting.  Maybe a scenic place, or just a place that makes you feel relaxed.  There's all kinds of cool places to run.  The beach, the park, the woods, you'll find somewhere enjoyable.  Even if you have to drive there, it's worth it.  Another recommendation to combat boredom is try running with a friend or a group.  I prefer running alone most of the time, but many people have greatly benefited from having a community around them and people to run with, including my wife, Samantha.  It's a fun way to catch up with friends, and if you're all suffering together, it can bring you closer.  

"My problem with running is I always want to run faster than the last time I ran.  I don't like plateauing or having setbacks".  I know, it can be frustrating.  We all want to progress and improve with each run, and when we experience setbacks it's demoralizing.  What I would say in this situation is you don't have to be at your best every time you run.  That's simply not realistic.  That's a hard thing for some people to accept, but you can look all over the internet, and you'll find plenty of stories about elite runners having bad races and experiencing struggles and setbacks.  We're humans, not machines.  Every run doesn't have to be better than the last one.  In fact, it's okay if it's worse than the last one.  The next one after that will be better.  Having a bad run doesn't make you a bad runner.  Keep at it, and don't put too much pressure on yourself.  For me, once it becomes all business and pressure, and no fun and enjoyment, it's over.

If you want to get into running, but you're having trouble liking it, I hope this helps.  I would like to say that this advice may not work for everyone.  There's no right or wrong way, and different things work for different people.  These are just techniques that have helped me not hate running.  Running is not for everyone, and I would never force it on my son, my friends, or anyone else.  I will never tell anyone that they need to run.  But I would encourage people to give it the benefit of the doubt, trust the process, and take the time to get good at it.  It won't happen overnight.  I take a lot of pleasure in seeing people get into running by overcoming the initial hurdles.  I hope to see it more and more.       

 

My Ten Answers To Ten Questions Runners Should Never Be Asked

Question: Did you win your race?

Answer: Yes, I win every single race I run.  That’s sarcasm. No, I didn't.  That’s not why I run.  I don’t run to win the race.  The only person I’m racing against is myself.  My goal is to perform my best and improve myself as a runner with every race I run.  And I need to be enjoying myself.  The moment I start taking it too seriously, that's when the fun disappears.  And if that happens, what's the point?  I run to relieve stress, not cause it.  I care about my time and how far I run, but I don't care about running farther and faster than other people.  My peers can do their thing, and I'll do mine.  I'm supportive of my running friends and everything they accomplish, but I don't feel the urge to try to upstage them.  Everyone has their own life and their own stuff going on.  I don’t care about being better than other people.  I’m there for the experience.

Question: Are you fast?

Answer: I don’t know.  Not really.  But maybe a little?  My typical marathon finish time is around four hours, and my typical half marathon finish time is around an hour and forty minutes.  However, life happens, and I get busy.  If I'm not running as many miles as I'd like, these times might be slower.  It's not that I don't want to be running, it's just sometimes other things like fatherhood and work take over my reality and leave me with very little energy, time, and motivation to go out and run.  It ebbs and flows, but I always find myself back out there.  When I run ultramarathons, I run anywhere from ten to nineteen-minute miles, and I’m out there all day, and into the night, sometimes.

Question: Aren't you worried that you'll have bad knees?

Answer: No.  And anyone who tells me that I’m going to have bad knees from running is probably just saying that because they’re a naysayer.  If bitter people see you doing something that makes you happy, they'll say anything they can to be a buzzkill.  I’ve run thousands of miles on pavement and trails, and my knees are fine.  It’s all about having the proper form.  Stomping down too hard, especially on pavement, can increase joint pain, so the trick is to have your steps be as light as possible to minimize impact.  Having proper footwear that fits your running style helps too.

Question: Are you still into that running thing?

Answer: Yes.  Don’t call it a “thing” like it’s just a weird phase I’m going through.  I've been running for sixteen years.  It is part of my life, my story, and my identity.  Eventually the day will come when I can no longer run.  Hopefully that will be later rather than sooner.  But I plan on making running part of my reality in one way or another for the rest of my life.

Question: How was your fifty-mile marathon?

Answer: It was good.  I thought a marathon was fifty miles long, but I found out later that it’s 26.2 miles long.  No wonder everyone was giving me a weird look when I turned around at the finish line and kept going the other way.  All sarcasm aside, a marathon is 26.2 miles.  Any other distance?  Not a marathon.

Question: Isn't it too cold to go for a run?

Answer: I ran the St. Croix Winter Ultra 40-miler through a winter night in Minnesota when the temperature was seven degrees below zero Fahrenheit.  Does that answer your question?  I run better in the cold.  You can think of me as being like a Siberian husky or a polar bear.  The colder the better if I'm outside being active.  Heat on the other hand, that's a different story.  Heat is a major obstacle for me while running.  It's forced me out of a couple of ultramarathons.  But finishing a 50K in Mount Shasta when it was 103 degrees, even if it took me eight hours, was pretty cool.

Question: Is it safe to run at your age?

Answer: Yes, it is.  Anyone at any age can run as much as they damn well please.  I've seen people in their sixties finish ultramarathons and people in their eighties and nineties finish marathons.  It's also really cool to see young kids running races and getting started young.  I'm sure it builds their confidence, just like being a skier did for me as a kid.

Question: So, if you're a runner, you must eat really healthy, right?

Answer: Is eating an entire package of Chips Ahoy! Chocolate chip cookies during a winter ultra eating healthy?  Pushing the sarcasm aside again, I don't have any strict dietary rules that I follow.  Everything in moderation.  I try to be conscious of my calories to an extent, and I make sure to include all the food groups on a regular basis.  I enjoy pineapple, avocado, apples, and a good salad.  But I equally enjoy cookies, doughnuts, and French fries.  

Question: Are you going to do the Barkley Marathons?

Answer: Yeah, it’s going to be my next ultramarathon.  St. Croix and the Tahoe Rim Trail 100 just weren’t enough.  More sarcasm.  The Barkley is in a whole category of it's own.  I've learned to never say never, but I would say it's unlikely that you'll ever find me in Frozen Head State Park waiting for Laz to light up a cigarette and start the race.

Question: If you run 100-mile races, you can probably run a marathon really fast, right?

Answer: I actually get this one a lot, so I’ll give a serious answer.  Not necessarily.  Running a 100-mile race is a completely different experience than running a road marathon.  When I run ultramarathons, sometimes I have time goals, but the ultimate goal is to finish.  When I’m out there on the trails and climbing and descending constantly, I’m not running the whole time.  There’s a lot of hiking involved.  That helps to keep my legs strong, but it doesn’t mean I can be a speed demon on flat and paved surfaces.  I usually go for right around a four-hour finish time when I run a marathon.  If I want to run faster marathons, I’ll need to start doing more speedwork. 

Single Day Adventures

Mammoth Mountain is one of my favorite places to visit.  It is a skier and snowboarder's dream.  The resort includes a gondola that patrons can ride to the summit of the mountain at 11,053 feet and be treated to stunning panoramic views of the Eastern Sierras. The mountain typically receives around 400 inches of snow per year, and features 3,500 acres of skiable terrain.  I know a handful of people who would gladly take me up on my offer if I were to invite them on a trip to Mammoth.  Where I would probably lose them is if I told them we were going to make it a single day trip.  That means we would drive five and a half hours to get there, snowboard for a while, then drive five and a half hours back home all in one day.  It sounds crazy, but a few weeks ago, I did just that.  

My neighborhood in Laguna Niguel was dead silent as I packed my car up with my snowboarding gear outside.  Aidan and Samantha were sound asleep in our townhouse.  I took off around 3:45 AM and made my way through Orange County and the Los Angeles area, finally getting onto the 395 freeway in Mojave.  The 395 runs all the way to the Canadian border, but I've always thought of it as the road to Mammoth and the Eastern Sierras.  I followed the remote highway through Owen's Valley, and enjoyed the scenery when the sun eventually came up.  Normally sunrises energize me, but shortly after I crossed into Inyo County, I was nodding off.  Even though it would delay my arrival time to Mammoth, I decided to pull off the road into a rest area to take a nap.  Better to play it safe.  I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  Across the street from the entrance to the rest area was a single gas station.  Other than that, it was open land with mountains in the distance all around me.

After about an hour of napping in the front seat of my car, I dropped into the nearby gas station for a hot cup of coffee, and continued the journey.  I passed through Lone Pine, and rolled into Bishop, where I stopped at a doughnut shop to get something to eat for the road.  On my way out, I encountered Catra Corbett standing outside of the Starbucks next door.  Catra is a well known ultramarathon runner who lives in the area.  I had met her at a few races over the years, and I knew she lived in Bishop, but I didn't think I would be running into her, so that was a cool surprise.  With her pink hair and colorful clothing, she was hard to miss.  We chatted for a few minutes about running before we bade each other farewell, and I hit the road once again.  I finally arrived at Mammoth around 10:15 AM.  The weather was pretty cloudy with a few flurries flying around, and the temperature was pretty cold, right around the freezing mark.  Heavier snow was expected to arrive later on in the late afternoon, but I planned to be on my way home by then.  

It was a great day on the mountain.  The snow was good, and there was a decent amount of people, but it wasn't overly crowded.  I went down my favorite run a few times, which is the Upper Road Runner.  The run begins at the summit, winds along the side of the mountain, and ends at the main lodge where the base of the mountain is.  The snow came earlier in the day than expected, and by 2:30 PM, it was a full on powder day.  It had been a while since I snowboarded in conditions like this, and I was having a blast.  It was super cool that the snow arrived early, but it was also important to be careful with timing.  I needed to be back on my way before the roads became too snowy.  I was able to get about five hours of boarding in all together.  On the way out of town, I stopped in the village to buy a couple of souvenirs.  Aidan has a whole collection of stuffed animals, and a Wholly Mammoth one was a perfect addition.

On the return trip, I made it about halfway from Mammoth Lakes to Bishop before I needed to pull over and nap again.  This time I stopped in a turnout off the freeway where motorists could stop and admire views of Mount Morrison.  I slept a little deeper this time, and woke up after an hour and a half in a bit of a daze.  When I arrived in Lone Pine, I stopped for some dinner at Mount Whitney Restaurant, which was always a big hit with me and my hiking buddies after a trip to the Eastern Sierras.  The remainder of the drive was long and tiring, but I finally made it back home around 11:30 PM.  

So, yes, I did Mammoth in one day from Southern Orange County.  Was it exhausting? Yes.  But was it worth it? Hell yes! A lot of people would probably disagree and think I'm nuts, but I enjoyed every bit of that trip.  It's just the way my mind works.  I guess that's what nine years of running ultramarathons will do to a guy's outlook.  Ultrarunners experience a lot in one day when they race.  A fifty-mile race typically takes runners anywhere between ten and sixteen hours to complete.  Not only is that a pretty long distance to cover on foot in a single day, but every emotion imaginable is often felt along the way.  It's like living an entire lifetime in one day.  A lot happens.  This experience is part of what keeps most ultrarunners coming back for more, including myself.  We like packing as much into a single day as we can.  We like living multiple days of life in one day.  It gives us a thrill.  This same logic applies to other areas of my life, such as day trips to Mammoth, and single day work trips up to the Bay Area.  To me, spending eleven hours in the car enjoying the California scenery, snowboarding for five hours, napping in the car, eating at restaurants in small towns, and having time to just unwind was an awesome adventure.  And my favorite part is I can do it all in one day, then come home and be with Samantha and Aidan.  It makes my heart feel full.  Same thing with work travel.  I love waking up in the wee hours of the morning, catching a flight to San Jose, being with my team for a day, then flying back home that night so I can be with my family.  Don't get me wrong, I would also be into the occasional overnight trip so I can be less exhausted, but if I can have a single day adventure, that's my preference.  It's the best way I can make as much time for everything as I can.  Does that make me nuts? Maybe a little bit.  But that's the way I like it!