What's Your Ideal Running Temperature?

                                     Morning sunrise in Tahoe after the thirty-eight degree night

The other night, Sam, myself, and Aidan were hanging out with some of our running friends in downtown Los Altos.  It was the night of the Downtown Wine Stroll, a local event in which several wine bars and vendors offer wine tasting in the downtown area.  We only caught the tail end of it, but it seemed to be something along the lines of a bar crawl, only with wine.  Our friend Sam (a guy named Sam) was playing saxophone with a jazz band outside of one of the venues as part of the event's entertainment.  None of us were really into the wine part of the evening, but we gathered to support our friend, hear some jazz, and catch up with each other.  It was a nice ambiance.  The weather was crisp, cool, and refreshing, the band was good, there were lots of decorative lights, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood.  It felt like a nice Autumn night.  As we stood in a circle chatting, I held our little dude up against my chest so he could join in on the action.  He seems to really like people, human interaction, and being out and about.  When someone commented on the chilly weather I said "What's your favorite temperature to run in? Let's go around the circle".  There were six of us and just about everyone said they preferred high fifties, low sixties.  When we got to me, my response was "thirty-eight degrees".  Not only was it very specific, but it was considerably lower than the temperatures my friends preferred.  

Over the last few years I've started a new "tradition" during my training for the Canyons 100K.  I drive to Tahoe on a weekend night, arrive at around 1:00 AM, run fifty kilometers by myself through the night on highway 89 along the lake, finish around 7:30 - 8:00 AM, have a delicious breakfast, then drive back home.  There's usually a short nap involved somewhere in there.  The goal is to not only train my body to run long distances, but to do so on very little rest during odd times of the day.  It's a good endurance exercise.  It's also a lot of fun!  I get hot easily and I sweat a lot when I run.  Therefore, I've always preferred running in cooler weather, but it was during this solo, through the night, Tahoe run in 2021 when I discovered my ideal running temperature.  I stepped out of my car into the dark night.  When I switched on my flashlight and headlamp and began running down the road, my phone indicated that it was thirty-eight degrees.  This was at 1:30 AM on an early April night in Tahoe, so this temperature was actually a little warmer than average.  At this time of  year the temps typically drop into the high twenties or low thirties overnight, however, a storm was on it's way in, and it was an unusually cloudy night with overcast skies.  I wore a long sleeve dri-fit running shirt with a short sleeve one over it, along with shorts and Vibram five finger running shoes.  Throughout the entire seven-hour journey, I didn't need to alter my running attire one bit.  I never needed to de-layer, layer up, or even roll up my sleeves.  I didn't feel too warm or too cold.  I felt just right.  When I returned to my car I realized that I only drank about half of the fluids I had on me and I hardly broke a sweat.  I felt very dry and comfortable.  When I looked at my phone, the temperature still read thirty-eight degrees.  The clouds had somewhat dispersed and there were some cracks of sunshine once the sun had risen, but the overcast skies throughout the night had held in some of the residual mild temperatures from the daytime, and as I browsed the hourly weather report from the night before, I realized that the temperature stayed at thirty-eight degrees throughout the entire time I was running.  And that was that.  Thirty-eight degrees was now my favorite temperature for running.  Standing still in thirty-eight degree weather was a different story though.  Once my blood flow began to slow down I soon felt chilly and promptly retreated to Rosie's Cafe for a hot cup of coffee and a celebratory post run breakfast.

                                            San Francisco Bay this morning on the Bay Trail

It's now late October and I particularly love early morning runs at this time of year and throughout the winter time.  This morning I went for a six-mile run along the Stevens Creek and Bay Trails in Mountain View.  When I started, the temperature was forty-six degrees, the sky was clear, and the sun was barely starting to rise.  Early morning sunlight was firing up into the sky behind the Diablo Range on the other side of San Francisco Bay in front of me.  All I needed was a short sleeve dri-fit running shirt to stay comfortable.  When I returned home I felt energized.  I love morning runs and they always leave me feeling energized, but it's the mornings when the temperature is cool, crisp, and refreshing and when the sun rises later in the morning that particularly leave me feeling inspired and ready to go.  For me, the colder it is outside, the more comfortable I am while running.  When I ran the thirty-eight mile St. Croix Winter Ultra in January 2020, I rallied through a sub-zero, bitterly cold, Minnesota night without feeling too cold.  On the other hand, I hardly broke a sweat.  Maybe this is a good indicator that I would kick ass in winter ultras.  Who knows.  St. Croix is the only winter ultra I've done so far, but I'm for sure going to do more at some point.

The Best Hike to Mission Peak Ever

Our pediatrician is awesome.  When we selected her shortly before the little dude was born, we had never met her in person and we didn't know much about her, other than what we read on the Palo Alto Medical Foundation website.  The information we read mainly consisted of where she went to school and a brief summary of her interests and personal life.  We liked what we read, even though it was pretty limited, so we decided she was likely a good fit.  We were right.  We were about to wrap up Aidan's two month old check up with her, and I couldn't have been happier.  Nothing but good news about his health and development, and he behaved beautifully the entire visit.  Not that I could get on his case if he misbehaved though.  He's friggin' two months old.  When there came a pause in the conversation about his current health, I broke in.  "I know you have other people to see today, so I want to be respectful of your time, but I have two quick questions".  "Oh, go ahead!" she replied cheerfully.  Here we go. "Okay cool.  So, I really like mountains.  Is it safe for me to take him to 7,000 feet of elevation without him having any issues?"  This was on a Friday and I was tentatively planning to take the little dude to Pinecrest for a hike on Saturday so Sam could have some personal time.  The spot that I'm referring to has been documented many times on my social media and is located very close to the Dodge Ridge Ski Resort.  It's a network of trails and paths that I frequently visit to go cross country skiing during the winter and hiking during the summer.  Taking Aidan here would have involved a new level of logistical planning.  This area is about a three hour drive each way up into the mountains from our home in Sunnyvale, and it would have been the longest that he's been out and about since he was born.  Additionally, the average elevation is around 7,000 feet, hence my question to our pediatrician.  He response was honest and it made sense.  She didn't tell me "no, don't do it", but she suggested that I go hiking with him at lower elevation to start out, and see how it goes.  At two months old, his hemoglobin levels were very low, which meant that he may have a problem getting enough oxygen and he could possibly get altitude sickness.  There are lots of babies that are born and raised at high elevation, but if you're born into it, your body adapts.  It would be difficult for Aidan to go from sea level to 7,000 feet of elevation so quickly without acclimating his body first by spending time at perhaps 3,000 feet.  I generally do well with elevation, but there's been a couple of times when I've been hiking at 12,000 to 13,000 feet where I've gotten hit with altitude sickness.  And let me tell you, it sucks.  A lot.  It's bad enough when you're an adult, I wouldn't want to subject a two month old baby to it.  I'm sure there are some pediatricians out there who would have thought that I was full of shit for asking this question and would wonder if I was actually serious about bringing him to that kind of altitude.  They would have probably shot me right down.  But our pediatrician wasn't like that.  She seems to appreciate the idea of parents wanting to be active with their kids and get them outdoors.  She gets it.  Hence, she gave me more of a response along the lines of "well, that might not be a good idea right now, but here's what you can do instead" rather than just "no, no way".  

Taking this advice into account, I decided that it would be a better idea to save Pinecrest for some other time and take the little man hiking to Mission Peak instead.  Mission Peak seemed like a good alternative to Pinecrest.  It's a prominent mountain in the San Francisco Bay Area, peaking at around 2,500 feet, and offers sweeping views of Silicon Valley, San Francisco, and the Diablo Range.  There are a few ways of reaching the summit, but the route that I typically take is about six miles round trip from the Stanford Avenue parking lot, and the route that I would be taking with the little dude.  I was feeling excited as I made preparations for the adventure on Saturday morning.  When feeding babies, there comes a point where their stomachs are full and they begin to make funny grunting noises, their eyes are only partially open, they have a blank look on their face, and their movement is minimal.  We've heard nurses and other parents coin this as being "milk drunk" or "milk wasted".  I think the origins of the funny expression speak for themselves.  Sam made sure that Aidan was nice and milk drunk as I prepared for our adventure.  I packed everything he could need.  A couple of extra diapers, some wipes, a plastic grocery bag to depose of dirty diapers, an extra onesie, a cleaning cloth, a blanket, and a serving of formula in a bottle.  Once we were all ready, I got him into the carrier and we headed out.  After picking up a fresh cup of Philtered Soul brew from Philz Coffee, we made the twenty-five minute drive to the trailhead while Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon album played on the car stereo.  When we arrived I slid the little dude into the baby carrier harness that had been gifted to me by my fiend Misha.  I made sure he was secure with adequate head support, and we started up the trail.  Anyone who hikes in the Bay Area knows that Mission Peak is no cake walk.  This route involves a 2,000 foot climb over three miles on beautiful, but almost fully exposed terrain.  There was very little shade to hide during this hike.  I decided that morning that I would not have summit fever, and I would go into this with no expectations.  The little guy was only two months old and if he wasn't into it, then so be it.  He was comfortable and sleeping when we started hiking, but if he woke up and started protesting, we would turn around.  There would be other times.

When we reached the final push to the summit about an hour later I was blown away.  To my amazement and delight, Aidan had remained asleep and relaxed the entire time!  When I was making my way up the trail I placed my hands underneath him for support.  The harness held him, and his legs and arms hung freely out the sides.  I used a small flap that came with the harness to protect his head and face from the sun.  It was getting warm outside and I was sweating, especially in my chest area.  This meant that my body heat was transmitting to the little dude, so I was hoping that he wasn't getting overheated.  He wore a long sleeve Halloween themed onesie, which helped protect his arms and legs from the sun, but he didn't seem to be too hot.  There are some steep sections along the route, and going up the trail was more challenging than usual because of the extra weight.  At his appointment the previous day, Aidan weighed in at around ten and a half pounds.  He was at a healthy weight for his age, but when you have ten and a half extra pounds hanging from your chest while hauling your ass up a mountain, you can feel the difference.  The final push to the summit is narrow, technical, and rocky.  The footing here can be tricky to avoid falling, and I was more careful this time than ever before.  There were a couple of times where I was out of breath from climbing up the rocks and I told Aidan in a hoarse voice that we were almost there.  When we finally made it to the summit I was overjoyed.  "Alright, we made it buddy!" I said as I looked down at him.  He was still knocked out.  To me, if we're out and about and Aidan is fast asleep, it means that he's enjoying himself.  When he's asleep or calm, that's his way of saying that he's happy and at peace, which was exactly what I could have hoped for.  By this point, I had been to the summit of Mission Peak more times that I could count.  It was my training ground for mountain ultras and I'd climbed to the top time and time again.  I've always enjoyed it, but this time it was different.  The idea that I was standing on Mission Peak looking down over Silicon Valley thousands of feet below, holding my two month old son against my chest was a powerful tonic.  I reveled in the excitement and took it all in.  

We hung out on the summit for probably about twenty minutes taking pictures, admiring the views, and talking to people.  Other hikers were impressed that he made it up to the summit as a two month old baby.  We felt great as we descended down the trail, but I was again careful to keep my footing on point to avoid falling and potentially injuring the little dude.  On the way down we were facing Silicon Valley, the Santa Cruz Mountains, and San Francisco, so it was much easier to enjoy the views on the way down.  It was a beautiful day and we stopped and took pictures at several points along the descent.  At one point, he woke up for a minute and got a little fussy, but I adjusted his position slightly in the harness to make him more comfortable, and he fell right back asleep again.  The fresh air, the calm atmosphere, and the rocking sensation of my strides lured him into another slumber and he was once again a happy little man.  We finished up the hike, and eventually made it back down to the car a little under three hours after started.  Aidan is supposed to eat every three to four hours during the day.  Sam had gotten him pretty milk drunk before we left, but that was three and a half hours ago.  When I placed him back in the car seat, he woke up, but was relatively calm.  I immediately prepared his bottle, sat down next to him in the backseat, and held it up to his mouth.  He downed it pretty quickly, but seemed to be very content, hardly making a sound.  Once he was done feeding, I packed up and we headed back home. 

It was as short journey in the grand scheme of things, but what an adventure it had been.  Of all the times I've hiked to Mission Peak, this was by far the coolest and most memorable time thus far.  I went into this with no expectations, but the little dude was such a good sport and he did so awesome.  He may not have done much physically, but stayed nice and calm, and enjoyed the experience, which made it easier for me to get him up to the summit.  Some people along the trail were giving me kudos for taking a two month old baby all the say to the summit.  I thought it was cool of them to commend me, but it wasn't just about me.  That day I truly felt like the little dude and I were a team.  He relied on me to carry him to the top, and I drew inspiration from having him with me along the way.  When I was bottle feeding him in the car afterwards I looked at him and said a few times "we did it".  "We did it, little man".  There was no "I" in this situation, not this time.  I didn't do it.  We did it.  It was a proud dad moment.