Canyons 2021: Before The Madness Begins

In May of 2018 I began seeing a therapist shortly after my former wife and I split up.  We've talked once a week for nearly three years now, and in that time, we've talked about a wide variety of things.  We talk about pretty much anything and everything.  Sometimes it gets deep, sometimes it doesn't.  Earlier today though, we spent the entire fifty minute session talking about my upcoming 100K run this weekend.  Believe it or not, yes, I actually did spend almost a whole hour mumbo jumbo-ing about an ultramarathon.

Over the last four years, this race has repeatedly vexed me.  The first time I attempted the Canyons 100K in 2017, I was completely unprepared.  I had run my first 50K eight months prior, and ran no further than a marathon's distance between that run and Canyons.  Looking back, I have no idea what I was thinking when I thought I could fake my way through a 100K with such light training.  The course beat me into submission, and I was forced to drop out at mile forty-eight after arriving at the aid station thirty minutes after the cutoff time.  I have nobody or nothing to blame except myself, and my foolish and unrealistic optimism.  Not finishing the race was a valuable lesson, and I'm grateful that it happened.  The following year I trained properly and went back to seek redemption.  The hard work paid off, and I finished within the cutoff time and got my Western States qualifier.  It was a proud moment.  I realized at that finish line that I was stronger and more capable than I ever thought I was.  When I returned in 2019, the course had to be re-routed due to record snowfall after an enormous winter in the California Sierras.  To add to the complexity, it was a warm and balmy day on race day.  The Canyons 100K course certainly lives up to it's name.  It traverses the Western States trail through the notorious "canyons" section, which includes several steep and lengthy climbs and descents.  The deep sections of these canyons are often ten to twelve degrees warmer than the rest of the course, and on this day, the temperature reached the low eighties.  I had a great first half, however the heat caught up with me around mile forty.  I wasn't prepared for the heat, and by the time I reached mile forty-five, I was cramping up with every step, dry heaving, and contending with heat related nausea.  I didn't have enough sodium and electrolytes in my system, and I was too far gone to make up for the deficit.  It's like overdrawing your bank account by $300 and someone says "here's $200.  Will this solve the problem?" Nope.  "How about $50 more?" Nope, that still won't do it.  "Well, tough shit, that's all we can give you".  I made the painful decision to once again drop out at mile forty-eight.  Again, I learned a valuable lesson from this DNF, but this time, I wanted blood.  Five weeks later I finished the Bishop High Sierra 100K and went on to finish the Tahoe Rim Trial 100-miler that July.  In April of 2020 the race was called off because of...well...that big thing that came in and changed the entire world the month before.  It was the first of many races I had that were cancelled in 2020, but I opted to do a solo self supported 50K run in the Bay Area on race day to keep my ultramarathon fire burning.    

And, that brings us to now.  Canyons 2021.  The race that's been on my mind for the last several months.  The race that I've been rambling to my girlfriend, my therapist, and my friends about for the last few weeks.  And here I am again doing it on this blog post.  How do I feel about it now that it's only two days away?  Well, I have a lot of nervous excitement.  I'm excited because I haven't run a live in person ultramarathon since January of 2020.  Also, I love this course and this trail.  It's one of my favorite places to run.  I'm nervous though, because this will be the furthest I've run since Tahoe Rim Trail 100 in July of 2019.  Also, this is a hard ass race.  It's sixty-two miles with 15,000 feet of climbing.  A lot of things can happen and it could go a number of different ways.  Some good, some not so good.  I'd like to think that I will have a good day though.  So far, all of the ducks seem to be in a row in terms of what I can't control.  To start off, the race is actually happening.  That's great news in it's own right.  The run will be on a modified course to allow more room for social distancing.  We will be running a point to point course from Overlook Park in Auburn to the China Wall campground in Foresthill.  I've been on this whole course before at some point during other races I've done, except for the last ten miles.  We'll just have to see how that part goes.  Additionally, the State of California has allowed us to all start at the same time at 5 AM as opposed to having staggered starts, and there will be aid stations every eight miles with packaged treats, plenty of hydration, and lots of awesome volunteers.  The weather forecast is supposed to be excellent; mostly cloudy, in the high fifties, low sixties.  In terms of what I can control, I feel cautiously optimistic, but again, anything can happen out there.  I've been putting in some big miles over the last couple of months, including a sixty mile week a couple of weeks ago.  Among those sixty miles was a thirty-one mile all night run along the shore of Lake Tahoe.  Over the last two weeks I've been tapering, doing more uphill hiking to prepare myself for the inclines, and ramping up on my strength and core training, which I began dabbling more into about five months ago.  

All I can do now is try my best to make sure my head is in the right place.  My therapist advised me to think positive, but don't repress the negative feelings because then they'll scream at me even more loudly.  "Welcome the negative feelings and tell yourself it's just anxiety, and you can push through it".  Part of the mental game is also telling myself that a finish would be fantastic, but if things go wrong and I don't make it to the finish line, it's not the end of the world.  I can't be afraid of failure.  There are plenty of other 100Ks that I can run.  Canyons is not the absolute and final word in ultrarunning.  Still though, I will absolutely do everything in my power to finish this run and get my Western States qualifier for 2022.  I can do it.  I'm capable.  I have nineteen hours to travel sixty-two miles on foot.  Pure and simple.  I either succeed or fail.  My girlfriend and I leave for Auburn on Friday afternoon, and at 5 AM on Saturday morning, it's go time.  I can't say exactly what the result will be, but I'm cautiously optimistic.  We'll see how it goes!

    

Running, The Outdoors, And Social Media

Let me just start off by saying that I love social media.  Facebook and Instagram (I don't mess around with Twitter too much) are great for keeping up with the lives of my friends and family.  I've also been introduced to several new products and businesses through social media and it's a great way for businesses and individuals to promote and market themselves.  Another thing I love about it is having a way of sharing my life online with other people.  Now, anyone who follows my social media knows that I'm pretty engaged.  The support that I get is always very positive, but I'm not naïve.  I know there's probably a few people out there who are thinking "Dude, okay, we get it.  You like to run a lot.  You like mountains.  You like the outdoors.  What are you trying to do with all this?"

What you see on my social media is my life.  It's my reality.  It's not attention or acclaim that I'm seeking.  I share my life on social media to inspire people.  When people I admire share their lives on social media, it inspires me, so why wouldn't I want to do the same damn thing?  I'm an accountant for a tech company, not a philosopher, but one thing that I have a strong belief in, is people who have passions and hobbies are generally happier and healthier than those who lack those two things.  The message I'm trying to send when I post on social media isn't so much "look how much fun I'm having or how awesome I am" it's more like I'm saying "I'm out here doing what I love to do and I hope you're doing the same thing".  Whether you're into vintage movies, fashion, cooking or eating exotic foods, or knitting blankets, my personal belief is that everyone should want to share their passions on social media.  If you're into music, share your favorite records or artists.  If you're into painting, share photos of your paintings.  If you like playing soccer, share photos from your games.  

Another reason why I'm so engaged on social media is because I believe in transparency.  I like to be out in the open with what's going on in my life, and I like to keep people in the loop.  Despite my open book mentality, there are a few areas of my life that even I like to keep private.  For example, most runners are familiar with the oh so wonderful app known as Strava.  Strava is awesome.  I love how accurately it tracks runs (and numerous other activities, including biking, snowboarding, and even paddling).  The amount of data and statistics the app provides is quite impressive.  There is, however, another aspect of Strava that I refer to as the "social media" aspect.  This includes all of your data being out there for everyone to see if you so choose, and the ability for others to give you "kudos" on your activities.  People can see pictures of my adventures on social media if they want, and that's enough for me.  I don't need everyone to know exactly how far and how fast I run.  Thus, I have my Strava profile set on private mode and use it strictly for tracking purposes.  

So, what I would say to everyone, no matter how old or young you are, where you live, etc. is if you haven't found your passions yet, keep looking.  You'll find them eventually, probably sooner than you think.  If you already have passions and you follow them, that's awesome!  No matter what your passions are or what your life is, I would encourage people to put their lives out there on social media for others to see.  I can guarantee you that people will dig it.  You'll probably end up inspiring more people than you thought and it might just be what some people need to turn things around in their own lives.    

  

What Is A "Good" Runner?

It goes without saying that the coronavirus has taken a toll on everyone in one way or another.  It's had a significant impact on people's professional and personal lives, especially those who have been infected, have had financial struggles, or have had a family member or friend lose their life because of this awful disease.  My heart goes out to those folks.  Since almost everyone in my social circle is a runner (surprise, surprise), I've had several of my friends tell me that their running has slowed down over the last year in light of the world shutting down.  They feel sluggish, they aren't running as fast as they were pre-pandemic, and sometimes they simply don't enjoy running like they used to.  Their feelings are justified.  It's not fun when you're steadily becoming a faster runner and you feel good about your performance, only to have it shuttered by negative psychological factors that drain you of motivation and energy.  When my girlfriend brings this topic up to me, I listen to her and resonate with her feelings, but I always end the discussion with the same affirmation:  I look her in the eye and tell her "It doesn't matter if you're super fast or not.  You're a great runner, and that's what counts".  She understands, however when I said this to her recently, I got a different response than the usual nod of agreement.  She looked at me like I had a huge zit on my nose.  "What do you define as a 'good' runner?" she asked.  Very good question, since I clearly don't think that just because someone is fast, it means they're a good runner.  So, in my twelve years of running every distance from a 5K to a 100-miler, this is the conclusion I've come to in terms of what it means to be a "good" runner.  The "Liam Philosophy", if you will.

Good runners don't needlessly beat themselves up when they have an off day.  Off days happen, rough races happen, and guess what? DNF's happen too, my friends.  I completely understand that it's normal to be frustrated with one's self when they aren't at their best.  That's completely okay.  But being mean and degrading to yourself is not okay.  A lot of runners struggle with this, and honestly, I'm no exception.  Throughout my running career I've gotten better at not psychologically abusing myself and understanding that I can't be at my best all the time.  Think about professional sports, especially hockey and basketball, where the teams play multiple times per week.  They're not going to win every single game.  We would all love that for our home teams, but it's just not realistic.  The fact that every team loses games validates the fact that the players cannot be at their best twenty-four seven.  Most dedicated runners lace up their shoes and throw down at least four runs per week.  That's an average of sixteen runs per month, two-hundred and eight runs per year.  Uh, hello! You're not going to have your best run all two hundred and eight times.  Same goes with races.  Some races will feel tougher than others, and some will go unfinished.  When runners have a bad race, their minds automatically focus on what went wrong and how they can prevent it going forward.  That's the right attitude, but sometimes there is no clear cut and dry answer.  Some days we just don't have it.  Sometimes we just have to say "you know what? It is what it is.  I had an off day.  I can't be at my best everyday" and leave it at that.  Easier said than done, but it's the truth.  Just because you have an off day doesn't mean you aren't a solid performer.

A good runner knows their limits.  Sure, sometimes we make the mistake of pushing our bodies too hard which results in puking, cramping, injuries, or in extreme cases, even soiling our shorts.  Good runners learn from those mistakes.  They listen to their bodies and know when they need to back off so they don't self-destruct.  We've all heard "those" people who say things like "if you're not puking or if you don't need to be carried away from the finish line, you didn't push hard enough".  What a load of horse manure.  As I said, mistakes happen, but good runners know when to take it easy so they don't consistently assume the role of vomit boy or girl or poo themselves just to finish that half marathon two minutes faster than their current PR.  I would much rather finish a race feeling strong with a smile on my face and be able to walk away to have a celebratory beer.  That beats the hell out of running the race ten minutes faster, puking everywhere, collapsing at the finish line, and yelling like I'm in labor before being carried away by medical staff.

A good runner knows how to be patient.  You're a six-minute mile runner, you can run an eighteen-minute 5K and a two hour and forty-minute marathon.  That's awesome and it certainly deserves massive kudos.  But, can you run slowly on purpose?  An early running mentor of mine back in Chicago recommended that instead of trying to run at lightning speed all the time that I try running at a slow pace instead.  He said that by doing so, my fitness would improve.  And it sure has.  If I go running alone, sometimes it's nice to throw down a thirty-minute four miler, but it is also important to be able to run at what I like to call "ultra pace".  Ultra pace is between twelve and fifteen-minute miles, and is the ideal pace for me to maintain while doing a fifty-miler or 100K so I can sustain my energy levels and get to the finish line.  I practice running ultra pace for four, five, or six mile distances regularly with my friend Byron, who is new to running.  Being able to run ultra pace on purpose, even for short distances, not only improves my fitness, it also teaches me to be patient.  I've been on several group runs where we've started off running together at a modest pace, but the fast guys quickly grow impatient and tell everyone that they're going to push ahead and that they'll see the rest of us later.  Distance running is a mind game.  When I do a long race, I have to cope with the fact that I will be out there for a while.  The best way for me to do that is by teaching myself to be patient.  This means running at ultra pace, even when I want to go faster.

Good runners are the master of their own reality.  They don't compare themselves to other runners.  They don't try to out do others simply because they have something to prove.  Friendly competition is okay, but good runners don't let other people get in their heads and they don't obsess over how their performance compares to their own.  What it all boils down to is that every runner is their own unique person.  Everyone has their own unique physical attributes, their own talents, and their own personal stuff going on outside of running.  In other words, we are who we are, we aren't anyone else.  There will always be people who are better runners.  I know damn well that there are countless people out there who are better runners than me.  I don't fight it, I accept it.  They may be better, but they're not me.  They don't have my life.  Athletically speaking, good runners would rather be themselves than anybody else.  We're all the master of our own universe.  We do us, and everyone else can do them.  The bi-product of this is that good runners celebrate other people's success rather than think of them as schmucks because they perform just as well or better.    

Finally, good runners know that they can't have all four of the above qualities pulsing through their veins at all times.  We can't be at our best all the time, remember?  What I do is I remember these four principles and I hold myself accountable to them.  All runners know subconsciously that they are good runners even though we all have to check ourselves sometimes.  Because let's face it; if we didn't know deep down that we were good runners, we'd just throw our running shoes away and give up when things become difficult.  But we don't.  We keep going because we believe in ourselves, and that's what counts.   

 

    

Running Rebel

The sun was lowering into the sky on a mid-July evening in 2008 as I carried my last box of crap from my car into my dad's house and up to my bedroom on the second floor.  Earlier that day, my dad had driven from my hometown of Beverly Hills, Michigan (which we often jokingly referred to as "The Real Beverly Hills, and our county of Oakland as "The Real O.C.") out to Kalamazoo to help me move my furniture out of my college house to transport back home.  I had finished the last day of my undergrad college career two days earlier, and in the early afternoon, we arrived at my childhood home with two carloads full of four years worth of my junk.  As I unpacked the last of my belongings and got reacquainted with my old bedroom, I reflected on the last several months.  My senior year of college had been the most fun out of all four years, hands down.  It was eventful and exciting, however by the time I left Western, I was taking full time summer classes, working twenty-five to thirty hours per week, and trying to enjoy the ninth inning of my college social life.  I was exhausted from juggling everything, and was ready for a more slow paced, quiet lifestyle away from the my rambunctious college town.  

As I drifted through the next several weeks, I gradually got used to how different life was in my quiet, suburban hometown at my dad's house, versus my rowdy college town. Just a few weeks earlier, I had been living in an old house with four other dudes where everything was broken and there were packed bars and boisterous house parties within walking distance every night of the week.  I soon landed my first real world job at a law office close to home and settled into a daily ritual of waking up at 7:00 AM, eating breakfast, taking a shower, going to work for nine hours, coming home, having dinner, watching TV, then going to bed.  I was enjoying this new phase of my life.  After four years of partying my ass off, it was the break that I had been seeking as I grew exhausted from the college lifestyle during the final weeks of my senior year.  Life was more simple and it was comfortable.  That didn't last very long.  Even though this new lifestyle was comfortable, something was missing.  Perhaps it was too comfortable.  Allow me to drift away for a moment to put things into perspective.  Let me start by saying this; I love my hometown.  It was a great place to grow up.  It was a nice, safe neighborhood with great restaurants and stores.  We spent a lot of time outdoors year round, and my parents always kept life interesting for my sister and I.  Despite all of this, Beverly Hills, in my opinion, is a pretty mundane place.  It's a Midwestern suburban village twenty minutes outside of Detroit.  Most adults who live there either grew up there or hail from within a twenty mile radius of the village.  They wake up, go to work, come home, relax, and go to bed Monday through Friday, and spend their weekends sitting in front of the TV eating junk food.  As I went about my daily life, I observed as my co-workers (who were older than me, but still pretty young), people I had known from school, and other people around me exhibited this very lifestyle.  I cringed as I began to see myself being pulled into the same pattern.  I was getting into a rut and I didn't like it.  I don't remember the exact date or time that I became fully aware of what was happening to me, but at some point I paused and said "Okay dude, reality check.  Is this how I'm going to spend the rest of my life?  Is this all there is?  Is it my destiny to just "Homer Simpson" my way through the rest of my days on this planet?"  Another trait I noticed among the people around me who were practicing this lifestyle was none of them really seemed happy.  They didn't have much zest for life and it seemed like they were simply okay with the way things were.  They weren't happy, just satisfied.  I could sense it in their demeanors. That was the way I was beginning to feel too.

When I write a book someday, there will be more detailed mumbo jumbo on this, but in short, I decided the answers to the questions above were as follows: Is this how I'm going to spend the rest of my life? No, not a friggin' chance.  Is this all there is?  Absolutely, not.  Is it my destiny to "Homer Simpson" my way through life? No, there was no chance in hell that was going to happen.  Once I answered these questions, I instantly felt more focused. I already felt more motivated to make my life more fun and interesting.  Now, I was onto a new task; I needed to find something to look forward to on a daily basis.  My boring Monday through Friday routine simply would not cut it anymore and I needed to make every day more exciting.  So, I decided to go for daily walks.  Every day after work I would come home, change out of my work clothes, grab my iPod, and go for an hour-long walk outside around my dad's neighborhood.  I loved it.  It was a great way for me to have some alone time, listen to some music, clear my head, and get some exercise.  As the weeks went on, my life was becoming more vibrant.  Simply adding this hour-long daily walk to my routine was a game changer.  The anticipation built up as I drove home from work and once I arrived, I wasted no time changing out of my work clothes, putting on my tennis shoes, and heading back out the door.  As the fall began to transition into winter, I shifted from walking outside to walking on the treadmill at the YMCA in my neighborhood.  Now I could track how far of a distance I was walking during that hour and how many calories I was burning.  I didn't think much of it at first, but after a while I found myself trying to walk faster and squeeze more distance into the hour of walking.  I also realized that I was slowly losing weight.  When I began walking, I was six feet tall, 188 pounds.  After a few months of I had dropped to 177 pounds.  Then I realized I was onto something;  the walking was not only helping me become more mentally stable, it was helping me become more physically stable also.  I felt lighter, heathier, and my mind felt more clear than it ever had before.

By January of 2009, I was being more mindful of what I ate, and I continued to slim down.  At one point I decided that I wanted to start covering more distance on the treadmill during my hour long walks at the YMCA, so I thought "why not try running a little?".  The first couple of times were tough, but when I saw that I was covering more and more distance in that hour, my running increased, and before long, my hour-long walks became hour-long slow runs with some walking breaks.  The more distance I covered during that hour, the better I felt.  Along with this, my mood improved, and I was becoming a more genuinely happy version of myself.  It was like a new chapter of my life and things were taking on a new meaning, man!  In April of 2009, I entered my first 5K race with Wade, one of my best buds.  We've known each other since elementary school and he was a gifted athlete back in high school.  We were both at the same level in terms of running ability, so we ran/walked the 5K together, and the following month I entered another local 5K.  This time I was alone, so I ran at my own pace, finishing in a little over twenty-six minutes.  I was gasping for breath when I crossed the finish line, but I felt great, and surprised that I was able to complete 3.1 miles in that amount of time.  People tell me all the time nowadays "oh, a 5K must be nothing for you".  Wrong.  Running 3.1 miles is still friggin' hard, so anyone who runs even that distance has my kudos and respect.  It isn't easy, my body has just learned to be more tolerant of the physical inconvenience over the years.  As I stood in the parking lot that day sweaty and out of breath, watching people cross the finish line, I knew a fire had been ignited inside me.  I had created a monster.  If only I had known where it would take me over the next twelve years.

And that's how I became a runner.  I moved to Chicago shortly after that second 5K, two days before my twenty-third birthday.  From there, my running took off, and it continued to grow and evolve when I moved to California.  I'm still learning, trying new things, and my running is still evolving even today.  If someone were to ask me "tell me in one sentence why you got into running", my answer would be "I started running because I wanted to be a rebel".  I began running because having a boring, miserable life sucks the big hairy meatball.  I've been a rebel all my life, and I wanted to rebel against the mundane lifestyle that I found myself being sucked into by the world around me.  I looked at that world and flipped my middle finger.  I wanted more.  I wanted excitement.  I wanted something to look forward to every day that could transform my life.  And I'll never get enough of it!

My Hilarious, But Very Real Goose Phobia

The morning clouds loomed over the river as my dad and I pulled into the parking lot of Billy's Seafood.  It was a mild February morning in South Alabama, and even though there were rain puddles in the parking lot and I had to wear a hoodie to keep warm, it was still much more pleasant than the snowy, twenty-degree weather we'd left behind in my Michigan hometown three days earlier.  We had just kicked off our annual two-week vacation in the town of Gulf Shores, a small resort town on Alabama's Gulf Coast, a little over fifteen miles east of the Florida border.  The area is a popular destination for students during spring break, however in mid-February, the weather is just pleasant enough to bring us relief from the frigid Michigan winter, but cool enough that the town stays relatively calm and gives us a chance to enjoy it's charm without having to deal with crowds on the beach and in local restaurants.  One of the perks we especially enjoyed was the local seafood, and several years ago my dad had somehow discovered this no frills seafood nook that we would visit three or four times throughout our trip every year.  I always enjoyed watching the lobsters crawl around in the giant tank and was in awe of the store's variety and selections.  We chose a spot, stepped out of the car, and walked across the parking lot towards the entrance of the store.  Before going inside we decided to walk down to the small beach and check out the view of the river.  We hopped over a short wall of rocks and onto the sand.  And then I saw him.  A goose.  And not just any goose.  This guy was big, probably about three feet tall.  I would like to add that this was in 1993 and I was six years old at the time.  My mind was still developing, I was inexperienced in a lot of ways, and my brain was absorbing like a sponge.  The presence of this massive goose didn't phase me, and I nonchalantly walked over towards him while my dad admired the river.  I was being curious, but this goose was simply not having it.  I stepped into his territory and that jerk of a bird didn't hesitate to hiss at me and chase me a good thirty feet down the beach.  My dad turned around when he heard me running and screaming, and I soon began crying shortly after the big Nazi goose backed off.  Dad was trying to console me, but looking back, I'm sure he was also trying to hold back his laughter.  After all, I was fine.  The goose didn't bite me and there was no harm done, but I was absolutely terrified.  It may have been the most scared I had been in my life up until that point.  And if this story wasn't entertaining enough, the year before when we were visiting the local zoo in Gulf Shores, I got too close to the ostrich cage, and one of them thought it would be fun to walk up to me, grab the drawstring dangling from my hoodie with his beak, and try to pull me into the cage.  That story had essentially the same conclusion; me screaming and crying, while my parents consoled me, but probably laughed their heads off after I went to bed that night.  Too bad Youtube and smart phones weren't around yet.  I could have been an online celebrity and entertained millions of people at my own expense.

I'm now thirty-four years old, I've gone through several life evolutions, and done a lot of growing as a person.  But I'm still scared of geese.  The big goose on the beach at Billy's Seafood in 1993 apparently traumatized me in some way, and in subsequent years since then I've become mildly terrified every time I've encountered a Canadian goose.  There were a couple of times where I was chased even after the 1993 incident, which only enhanced my phobia.  In recent years I've decided to try to conquer this childhood fear, although it hasn't come without some funny and embarrassing moments.  One afternoon in February 2019, I was running alone on a trail along San Francisco Bay.  Up ahead I saw two geese lingering on the side of the trail near the water.  When I got within fifty feet and they still hadn't budged, I said "nope" and turned around.  Several months later I was running on a nearby trail on a beautiful Sunday morning with my local running group.  I was running solo, but my two friends Garner and Stephan were about a hundred yards behind me.  I was feeling good until three geese came into view up ahead.  My fear kicked in and I slowed down.  They were off to the side of the trail and I had plenty of room to run by them, but I was still hesitant.  When Garner and Stephan caught up to me they seemed confused as to why I had slowed down.  "Guys, I'm scared of geese" I explained with nervous laughter.  "If the three of us run by them together, they can't chase all three of us.  Let's do this".  "It's okay man, just run by and flap your arms like wings" they said.  As we ran by I watched as Garner and Stephan jumped and flapped their arms, and sure enough the geese retreated closer to the water.  I was impressed that it had worked, but when I turned around to head back, I had proven to myself that I hadn't quite worked up the nerve to give it a try.  The geese had returned, and I decided instead to just run as fast as I possibly could and try to ignore them.  One of them turned his head right towards me as I ran by (the first sign that they're not happy), but the encounter didn't escalate into anything beyond the eye contact.  Still, I was scared and my adrenaline pumped as I ran by.  About a year later I was running on a trail with Stephan and our friend Julie when Stephan once again used the jumping and arm flapping method to keep a goose away as we ran by.  I still had not worked up the nerve to use this technique and I watched in amusement as the goose waddled away.  

Yesterday I was running alone on the Guadalupe River Trail in San Jose, when I had yet another encounter.  Once again, about a hundred feet ahead, I spotted a goose on the edge of the trail and immediately slowed down.  "Maybe I can use the jumping and arm flapping method" I thought.  I got within thirty or so feet and the goose had not moved.  I sighed and turned around.  "Come on, dude, you can do this, stop being so scared" I said to myself.  So I turned around and headed towards the goose again.  This time I got within about fifteen feet, and that jerk still hadn't moved.  I stood there for about ten seconds, but he just would not get his butt off the edge of the trail and down to the river.  I turned around yet again and began slowly running in the opposite direction.  Then I remembered yet another comedic episode where my goose phobia kicked in.  My girlfriend and I were good friends for a year before we began dating and a few months before I asked her on a date, we were finishing up a group run at Almaden Lake.  She had a tough go at it and was in a lot of pain by the time she finished.  I felt bad and gave her a hug to show my sympathy, but when I let go, I saw a goose walking around behind her and I slowly took a few steps back.  I sensed her confusion and let her know that there was a goose behind her, which let to me explaining my whole goose story that you had the pleasure of reading above.  Today happened to be Valentines Day, so she was on my mind a lot.  As I reflected on that instance, frustration kicked in.  There was no way some pansy goose would ever come between my girlfriend and I if it came down to it.  I'd had enough.  Time to let this bird know who's boss.  I turned around again and began running towards the goose.  Fueled by adrenaline, I moved to the other side of the trail, called out to him as if I were trying to scare away a bear, and jumped up and down flapping my arms like a lunatic.  The goose didn't chase me.  He casually waddled down the hill towards the river as I ran by.  "Yes!" I exclaimed.  I felt so proud of myself that I literally looked back at the goose as he walked down the hill and yelled "that's right!".  And then I began laughing at how ridiculous this situation was.  It made me think of the Big Bang Theory episode with Sheldon and the blue jay on the windowsill.  This was a medium sized goose who wanted no trouble, and even though I acted like I was trying to scare off a five-hundred pound wild animal, it worked.  It was an extremely silly, but proud moment.  The 1993 Billy's Seafood incident still haunts me, but what happened yesterday was a big step in getting over this ridiculous phobia.  As is the case with many things in life, the first time is the scariest, then it becomes easier.  It feels good to conquer my fears even if it's a gradual process.  And I did it through running, of course.  Running has helped me conquer other fears in my life, most notably, worrying about the future.  It's allowed me to live more in the present.  We all have fears stemming from childhood and even adulthood experiences, but it doesn't mean we have to be afraid forever.  And no one says we have to confront these fears overnight.  It's a process and we have to respect it.  I'll admit that having a goose phobia is funny as hell and pretty ridiculous, but it is a real fear, nonetheless.  Overcoming it is a work in progress.  Oh shoot, a goose just appeared out of nowhere and is waddling towards my keyboard.  Gotta go, bye! 

         

The Sierra Azul Three Peaks Challenge: A Fitting Way to Close Out the Year of Uncertainty

They say with great power comes great responsibility.  In my case, I would like to alter this proverb slightly by saying with great craziness comes great responsibility.  I can't even recount how many times people have told me I'm crazy or have said something like "you and your crazy ideas".  These comments are often in reference to my outdoor adventures, and I've owned up to this reputation over the years.  Although a lot of what I do may seem extreme to casual observers, it's worth noting that I execute these crazy ideas responsibly.  Over the years I've learned that it's okay to have adventurous ambitions and put myself in potentially risky situations as long as I take the necessary safety precautions to mitigate the chance of being injured or taken to the emergency room.  I'll freely admit though, that not all of my ideas are good ones.  I'm a human being like everyone else, and my judgement is not perfect in every situation.  I was thinking about that as I arrived at the Limekiln trailhead off the side of Alma Bridge Road near Los Gatos, California.  As I pulled off to the side of the road and shut my car off, I quickly became engulfed in darkness.  Aside from the stars in the sky, it was pitch black and dead quiet all around me.  My car was the only one parked along this remote stretch of road, where the Limekiln trail flanked off and ascended up into the mountains of the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve.  What brought me out here at 5:00 AM on a chilly December morning you might ask?  I was about to attempt what would be my last solo virtual ultramarathon of 2020, the year that popularized virtual running events.  The weekend before, my friends had organized a virtual holiday party for Bay Area Runners.  During the Zoom event, my friend Kelly suggested I attempt this race, which was coined "The Sierra Azul Three Peaks Challenge 52K".  When I looked it up on Ultrasignup.com, I noticed that the course consisted of significant elevation gain and visiting three mountain peaks along the way.  The website disclosed that the twenty-dollar registration fee would be donated to various animal rescue organizations around the Bay Area, and hundreds of dollars had already been raised.  It didn't take much convincing for me to sign up, especially since it presented a great way to end 2020.    

My initial plan was to make this run more interesting by starting at 10:00 PM on Friday and running through the night.  I'm no stranger to running at night and I find it quite fun.  What didn't sound fun, however, was the possibility of a mountain lion encounter in the dark.  While doing a little pre-race research, I discovered that the Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve was a habitat for plenty of wildlife, and cougars may be present at all hours of the day.  We all saw that video from October of the Utah hiker who had the six-minute standoff with the mountain lion protecting her cubs.  That was definitely not what I needed on a dark trail in the middle of the night all alone.  Besides, I had only been on a portion of this course before, so for all intents and purposes, it was unfamiliar territory to me.  I decided to scrap the idea of running through the night and opted to begin at 5:00 AM instead.  But as I stood outside of my car looking across the street, I began to wonder if even starting right now would be a good idea.  It was still very dark and mountain lions are most active at dusk and dawn.  As the trail sign glowed in the beam of my flashlight across the street, the silence was broken by an animal-like noise in the distance.  "Okay, maybe this isn't a good idea" I thought.  Probably best to wait an hour until 6:00 AM to get going.  It would still be dark by then, but the sun would be coming up around 7 AM, and I wanted to get a little running in before sunrise.

When 6 AM rolled around, I threw my pack over my shoulders and walked across the street to the trailhead.  A couple of cars had pulled up a few minutes earlier, and two guys stood outside of their cars preparing to hit the trail.  It was good to know that I wouldn't be totally alone out here in the dark.  The cars, the road, and the glow of the headlamps from the two guys disappeared behind me as I began running up the path.  This section of the Limekiln trail was known for having several steep inclines and sharp turns, and I shined my flashlight around in front of me as I ran along, looking back every so often.  Even though sunrise was approaching, I used extra caution to avoid being ambushed by a mountain lion.  As I made my way up the trail, I took out my phone to see what my next move was.  Unlike the other virtual ultramarathons I ran in 2020, where I designed my own race, this particular course was created by the race director.  Detailed instructions were included on the website, and although the network of trails is well marked, I had to do a bit of navigating.  I figured the best way to navigate the course was to screenshot the course directions and save them on my phone.  I continued climbing up Limekiln trail until I reached the next intersection, where I would make a left on Priestrock trail and proceed further up into the mountains.  The climb along Priestrock was horrendously steep at times, and marching uphill without much training presented a challenge.  Although the first rays of sunlight were now lighting up the sky, I still remained wary of predators.  The shrubby wilderness along Limekiln trail had given way to a surrounding area of rolling mountains full of bushes and grasslands as far as the eye could see.  As the climbing continued to challenge me, I began to understand why locals nicknamed this section of the trail "dogmeat".  As I crested the climb, an intersection came into view.  My next move was to make a right here onto the Kennedy trail, also known as "the rollers".  Running downhill felt great after the long climb and a beautiful sunrise began to light up the sky to the left of me.  One of my favorite things about running before dawn is watching the sun come up.  That's when I really start feeling alive.  There's something strangely inspiring about a sunrise, especially when you know you have a long day ahead.  It brings a sense of hope and optimism, as if to say "wow dude, that's gorgeous.  Let's make it a good day".  

My next move was to make a left onto Woods trail, which would lead me to the summit of the Mount El Sombroso, the first of three mountain peaks I would be visiting.  The view from the top was breathtaking, with an ocean of rolling hills lying in front of me for miles.  A prominent peak stood off in the distance to my right.  This one was unique in the sense that it was not only the tallest peak in the immediate area, but it also had a large tower at the summit.  Perhaps another unique feature was this mountain's name; Mount Umunhum.  But at the moment, the most important fact was that Mount Umunhum was the final of the three peaks that I would traverse, and was the centerpiece of this adventure.  It didn't look very far away, but I still had another eight miles before I would reach the summit.  As I continued onward, the trail followed a long and steady downhill, which allowed me to run some faster miles.  Mount Umunhum remained steadfast during the descent.  As the trail wound through the mountains, the position of the tower on top of the peak rotated around me.  The tower can be seen from far away and for the next several miles it was either right in front of me, behind me, or to my right.  I gazed up at the distant structure as I ran along.  "Okay, well at some point I guess I'm going to be up there" I said as I laughed to myself.  The next move on the course directions was to make a right onto Barlow road.  The intersection came at the bottom of the long descent on Woods trail.  Barlow, which was not an actual road, but a fire road, was a steep and winding climb, that would eventually lead me to a parking lot.  From there I would follow the path for a short distance to the second summit, Bald Mountain.

It was shortly after 9 AM when I arrived at the Bald Mountain parking area.  From there, the incline was relatively modest compared to what I had already done, and I reached the summit fairly quickly.  Unique to the other three mountains, the path followed a quick lollipop loop around the peak of Bald Mountain, offering picturesque views of the surrounding area, and of course, the tower on Mount Umunhum...again.  The parking area was more crowded when I returned after hitting Bald Mountain.  People stood next to their cars preparing for their morning hikes as I glided through the area and headed towards Mount Umunhum trail.  Although mainly intended for hiking Bald Mountain, the parking area is perhaps more popular for those who are hiking to the summit of Mount Umunhum, which was a little over three and a half miles up the trail.  During the ascent the tower popped in and out of view through the trees and shrubs.  Step by step, I was moving closer to it.  The experience was both satisfying and frustrating.  This thing haunted me ever since leaving Mount El Sombroso, and it seemed like even though I kept running along, it only inched closer to me every time it came into view.  When I finally made it, the view from the summit was gorgeous.  I was standing on the highest peak in the surrounding area and one of the highest in the Santa Cruz Mountains.  The summit was equipped with restrooms and a small parking lot, which was the dead end of the road that led to the peak.  The tower, which I later learned was nicknamed "The Cube" stood at eighty-five feet high.  It was constructed in 1962 and served as a radar tower to watch for enemy aircraft during the Cold War.  Although it has been decommissioned since 1980, it was left intact and serves as a local landmark.  

I cruised back down Mount Umunhum trail to the intersection of Barlow fire road, where I reached the twenty-mile mark of the course.  I recalled reading on ultrasignup.com that the race director brought up the fact that the distance of the course and the elevation gain had been slightly over-estimated.  Rather than a 52K (about thirty-two and a quarter miles), the course actually measured out to be a little over thirty miles.  I would be retracing my steps for part of the return trip, and I remembered that there was a long downhill along Woods trail on the way to Bald Mountain, which inevitably would be an uphill climb on the way back.  Despite this, I had two thirds of the mileage and most of the climbing now behind me.  I assumed the hard part was over.  It wasn't.  The climb up Woods trail was savage and my legs were screaming at me every step of the way.  My steps were choppy, my heart was racing, and the hill just kept going on and on.  Most of the running I had been doing lately had been on flat surfaces, and the lack of hill training was kicking my ass.  I knew the hill would reach it's crest at the intersection of the path that leads up to Mount El Sombroso, which was getting closer with each step.  The path traversed along the ridges of the nearby mountains with grassy slopes, bushes, and rock walls lining the edges.  There were several turns and curves, and I could see the trail out in front of me weaving along the edges of the distant mountains.  As I rounded a particularly sharp turn, another steep incline lied before me.  The thought of more climbing crushed me psychologically, and I decided it was best to take a seat on the side of the trail, drink some water, eat some trail mix, and try to regroup.  Sometimes a little rest can go a long way.  I eventually crested the hill and followed the rolling path towards the intersection with Limekiln trail, which I would follow all the way back to the parking lot.  As I shuffled down the path and reeled in the miles, I could see a trail ascending the edge of the mountains in front of me in the distance.  I stared in the distance as I progressed forward.  The last thing I wanted at mile twenty-seven of this rally was another uphill climb.  My legs where shot and had enough.  I hoped that this distant trail was not the Limekiln trail, while bearing in mind the possibility that it might be, just in case.  It's a technique I developed to avoid setting myself up for disappointment and anger.  In 2020, while living in a world of uncertainty, I've learned that things turn out best when I hope for the best, but expect the worst.  Still, I was really hoping that the ascending trail in the distance was not the Limekiln trail.  Sure enough, much to my dismay, it was.  I stood at the bottom of the descent, looking ahead at the incline in front of me.  I had been going for seven and a half hours, and already climbed somewhere in the neighborhood of 6,900 feet.  "You cannot be serious" I said out loud in frustration.  "What the actual fuck".  I was in a lot of pain, but there was nothing else to do except drag my weary butt up this final climb.  Despite my lack of hill training, I knew what kind of craziness I was getting into.  No time for boo hoo-ing.  

The majority of the final two miles was a steady downhill, which felt great, even though I was reduced to hobbling at this point.  The time and miles passed by fairly quickly thanks to some distractions along the way.  I saw an oncoming hiker pushing a baby stroller up the trail, which I thought was super cool.  I'd seen runners pushing strollers along sidewalks and roads on several occasions, but never hikers pushing them up a trail.  Minutes later,  I saw about fifty yards in front of me down the trail, an older lady with curly grey hair standing right in the middle of the trail, holding a mirror out in front of her, and combing her hair.  I had never seen anyone do that on a trail before and I chuckled to myself after I passed by her.  Before long, I came over a small hill and the road and parked cars appeared in the distance.  I ran the final steps, and crossed the virtual finish line as I emerged at the mouth of the trail near the road.  During the last few miles I had been ready to be done, but as I hobbled across the street back to my car, I felt happy rather than relieved, and I clapped my hands in celebration.  As difficult as this race was, it was a very rewarding way to close out 2020, one of the most challenging years of my life.  I was lucky to have love and support from my girlfriend, who during the six months that we've been together, has encouraged me to pursue my adventurous ambitions.  She and her mother have both voiced their concerns when hearing some of my stories of running debauchery, which is for the best, because it gives me another incentive to be careful and act responsibly.  As long as I do that, everything is cool.  Ultramarathons are all about highs and lows, thriving and struggling, and today was no exception.  During a time of uncertainty, when nothing is guaranteed, the lessons I've learned through years of running have worked wonders for my ability to cope with the world around me.  As I drove home, I closed the proverbial door on my 2020 running adventures, cautiously optimistic about what 2021 would bring.    

It's All in the Family

Becoming healthier and more fit was not the only reason I became a runner.  Yes, having a strong immune system, a lean physique, and higher energy levels are a nice bi-product, but there are deeper reasons why I derive pleasure from running long distances.  Before I go into one of those reasons, allow me to share a family story to create the proper segue.  

My parents were both born and raised in Michigan.  My mom grew up in a historically Irish-American Detroit neighborhood known as Corktown, whereas my dad hails originally from Detroit, but beginning at age fourteen, grew up in West Bloomfield, a suburb known for it's Jewish culture.  Over the years, my dad's side of the family made their way to various places across the United States.  While my mom's family remained in Michigan, my aunts and one uncle on my dad's side followed my grandma out to Southern California when she moved there after the death of my grandpa.  Once my aunts settled in California, they eventually married and started their own families.  Having cousins across the country felt like a double edged sword.  I hardly got to spend any time with them when I was growing up, but traveling to California every few years to visit was great fun, and ultimately planted one of the seeds that would eventually grow into the "Liam's California Dream" plant.  Lots of different personalities run on my dad's side of the family, especially among the kids, but there was one cousin who always stood out to me; my cousin, Doug.  Born on the same day as me in 1981, he grew up in Ventura County, just north of Los Angeles.  He and his older brother were the only two children my aunt ever had, and they were both with her first husband, whom she divorced when Doug was young.  He spent the majority of his life growing up with my aunt's current husband as his stepdad and although he had a pretty good upbringing, he was always looking for a shot at rebellion.  He developed a strong friendship with two other guys in his school who shared the same sentiment and in 1995, the three boys who were barely teenagers at the time, discovered the perfect outlet for their pent up aggression; they were going to form a metal band.  Inspired by Black Sabbath, the Sex Pistols, Pantera, and many other bands, the trio went to work with Jeff having the role as the vocalist and guitarist, Raymond playing drums, and Doug taking up bass guitar playing duties.  The three spent their early days playing cover songs in their school's gymnasium for their classmates.  They later recruited a second guitar player, and played at parties, public parks, and even had a couple of club gigs here and there.  Not bad for a seventeen year old kid from Southern California.  We also have to remember that this was in the late 1990's.  There was no Facebook, Instagram, or Youtube back then.  In those days, you actually had to play gigs, put up flyers around the neighborhood, and give away homemade tapes and CDs for free at your gigs.  That was how you got people to notice you, listen to your material, spread the word, and hopefully come to the next show.  The guys had chosen the band name "Black Opal", a name that matched perfectly to their image, music style, and their "we don't give a shit what you think" attitude.  Their image involved black and white photography, black crosses, and the band members often performing in various band T-shirts, such as the Misfits and Megadeth.  During this era, rap metal and alternative metal were becoming quite popular in the mainstream, and although their music was more thrash influenced, Black Opal began to make some big noise on the local circuit, at least in Southern California.  By the time Doug graduated from high school in June of 1999, the band was still going strong.  Then one day, a week after graduation,  he was out driving with some friends.  The details still remain unclear to me, but Doug's friend somehow lost control of the car, drove onto the median, and collided head on into a large tree.  His friends suffered injuries, but tragically, Doug was killed.  This is one of the biggest blows my family has ever endured, even to this day.  The guy was barely eighteen years old.  He had just graduated high school.  He had done so much in his eighteen years on this planet, and poof, just like that, everything was gone.  Understandably, it took quite a bit of time for my aunt and the rest of my family to recover from this tragedy.  As someone who lost his mom at a young age, I can say from personal experience that these types of situations can never be fully accepted.  There are always unanswered questions.  Although those feelings never go away, you learn to cope with it, and things get easier over time.  

Although we didn't spend much time together growing up, Doug and I were a lot alike.  We both had a rebellious side.  During my childhood I was lucky enough to have parents who had rules and standards, but simultaneously encouraged me to express myself.  I was a different kind of kid.  I didn't want to play football or basketball or listen to boring music.  I wanted to ride my bike, do snow sports, and play tennis.  My musical taste varied widely, but I loved rebellious, loud music like Limp Bizkit, Korn, and the Offspring.  It was my outlet for aggression.  Some of the other kids in school didn't understand, and I was often mocked for listening to "angry" music.  Even though he was so far away, Doug's status as a bass player in a metal band made me realize there's nothing wrong with music with some edge and attitude to it.  It was his outlet for aggression just like mine.  Years later, after I became a runner, I realized that part of the reason why I got into the sport was because it provided the same outlet for aggression as music did for me many years earlier.  Both of them together have worked wonders for me.  Running ultras is such an extreme act that most people can't wrap their heads around.  It's like a counterculture. It's certainly something that narrow minded people would look at, and simply dismiss it as ridiculous and wonder why in the world people would want to do it, even if they could.  When I run ultras, a part of me feels like I'm flipping that world the middle finger.  It feels rebellious and powerful.  To me, edgy music is one of the most misunderstood things in the world, and in some ways, I feel like ultrarunning is also.  Doug and I definitely come from the same family.  It must be a Dumenjich thing.  We have a rebellious side that we're just looking for a shot at showing everyone in a healthy way, and I feel fortunate that Doug and I have both seemed to find our way. 

RIP Doug, I miss you man.  Hope all is well on the other side!