St. Patrick's Day

When people see only my first name on paper or in rare cases, my first and middle name, which is Liam Tobin, most of them probably think "wow, this dude must be as Irish as they come".  But then they see my last name and they say "oh.  Nope, never mind".  Liam and Tobin are both very Irish names, but on the contrary, my last name, Dumenjich, is very Croatian.  I was always pretty aware of the basic makeup of my heritage, but thanks to 23 and Me, I've been able to drill into the details a little more.  My mom's side of the family is mostly Irish with some German heritage, and my dad's side originates from various places in Germany, along with Southern and Eastern Europe, including Croatia, Greece, and Hungary.  The simple version of my heritage is Croatian, German, and Irish, which is what I often tell people.  Part of the reason why I was always cognizant of my heritage is because of the fact that my mom's side of the family takes great pride in their Irish roots.  

Virtually all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins on my mom's side have Irish names.  Two guys named Patrick, Katherine, Mary, Kelly, etc.  Christmas was often celebrated over two days.  Many members of that side of my family wear Claddagh rings and jewelry with Gaelic knots incorporated into the design.  We had Gaelic poetry on the walls in our house and Waterford Crystal drinking glasses in our cupboard.  Us kids drew pictures of shamrocks just for fun.  Irish whiskey and Guinness were must haves at any family gathering.  My mom loved anything and everything Irish.  It runs in the family, and my aunts, uncles, and cousins still share this sentiment today.  

St. Patrick's Day was never a day that went uncelebrated.  Growing up, we had not only the day itself, but also the parade in the Corktown neighborhood of Detroit, which is always held the Sunday before.  My mom took me to the St. Patrick's Day parade in Detroit before I even turned a year old.  Somewhere in my collection of keepsake photos, there's a picture from the St. Patties parade in 1987 of me wearing a green onesie, posing with my two uncles in between pulls of Guinness.  The standard cliché is that St. Patrick's day, which falls on the 17th of March every year, is an excuse to wear green, drink green beer, and get shitfaced drunk.  Okay, maybe there's a reason for that.  The Irish certainly have a reputation for heavy drinking.  All clichés come from somewhere right?  My uncle once joked that even though people drive on the left side of the road in Ireland, they're driving on the right side of the road half of the time because they're trashed.  Another one of my family members has a funny coffee mug that tells you the ingredients for Irish coffee with a scale for each ingredient on the side of the mug.  The first three inches are Irish whiskey, with about a centimeter for coffee and cream.  I myself, along with my family members have largely embraced the stereotypes, however for the Irish, St. Patrick's Day has a deeper meaning.  

The purpose of the holiday, simply put, is to celebrate and honor the life of St. Patrick, who died on March 17th back in the 17th century.  St. Patrick is viewed by many as the most significant saint in Irish history, having had a large impact in shaping Irish culture.  It started off as being observed as a religious holiday by the Catholic church, but we all know what it's become today.  Today in Ireland it is widely celebrated as a holy day, in a way that is similar to how Thanksgiving is celebrated in the United States:  A day to be with your family and loved ones and have a big feast.  Okay, and have some drinks too.  That is often the way the actual holiday was celebrated on my mom's side of the family.  We'd typically go over to one of my aunt's houses and just hang out together.  Of course the parades the weekend before were a different story.  We would all be dressed up in our St. Patties attire as the parade went by, and cheer people people on.  Once the parade ended, we'd spend the remainder of the afternoon at The Old Shillelagh, one of the most well known Irish pubs in Detroit.  I enjoyed this annual tradition almost every year up until when I left Michigan and moved to Chicago in spring of 2009.  St. Patrick's Day in Chicago was a different level of rowdiness.  The Chicago river, which runs through the downtown area is dyed shamrock green the weekend before St. Patrick's Day every year (If you've never seen it, Google it.  It's pretty awesome).  Every bar in town is packed, house parties are everywhere, and there are not one, but two parades.  The two St. Patties Days I spent in Chicago are definitely ones to remember.

Above all, St. Patrick's Day is my mom's holiday in my world.  Because she loved it so much, I often think of her on St. Patties Day and all of the fun memories I had with her and her side of the family.  Usually I drink a Guinness in her honor, even if it's at home.  This year however, Sam and I drank Shamrock shakes from McDonald's, which are pretty tasty by the way.  I hope to someday bring Sam and our little dude, who will be arriving this summer, to a St. Patrick's Day parade in Detroit with my mom's family.  It'll happen when time permits.  In the meantime though, maybe we can start him off with a shamrock shake on his first St. Patties Day in 2023.      

Fast Times In Berkeley

Let me start out on a completely unrelated subject to the rest of this story.  I realized just this morning that Panera Bread has very tasty and underrated coffee.  Or perhaps it's not underrated, but maybe more the fact that I simply don't go there to eat very often.  That hazelnut blend though.  Delicious!  This morning I joined Bay Are Runners, a local running group that I've been a part of for a couple of years now, on their weekly Saturday morning group run on the Lower Guadalupe River Trail in Santa Clara.  It was good to catch up with people, meet new people, and get some good miles in during the early morning hours.  A handful of us went to Panera for breakfast afterwards, and as I was taking a particularly delicious sip of the wonderful coffee that I mentioned above, I was trading conversations with other runners about races they've done recently and what they have coming up.  After hearing about my upcoming ultramarathon season, which kicks off in April with the Canyons 100K by the way, my friend Sheri was talking about how her favorite distance to run is a half marathon.  She looked at me laughing and said "I know that's nothing for you".  I tend to hear this a lot, and it's understandable.  My friends will talk about running marathons, half marathons, and other similar distances then look at me and chuckle.  "Liam, a marathon must be nothing for you" or "Dang Liam, you can do a half marathon in your sleep compared to what you've done".  Contrary to what most people think, this is not the case.  Just because the distance is shorter doesn't mean it's easier or less grueling for me.  This interaction with Sheri got me thinking about the Berkeley Half Marathon, which I ran on 2/27/2022, almost two weeks ago.  

I signed up for the Berkeley Half Marathon in December 2021 simply because it looked like a cool race.  Berkeley is a cool city and I thought it would be fun to do a road race up there for a little change of scenery.  My friends and fellow Bay Area Runners group members Kelly, Arjun, and Maggie were also going to be running, and on race morning we were able to find each other fairly easily in the crowd of runners.  The feelings I had at the start line were similar to those I had at the start of the LA Marathon in the sense that it felt good to be in a normal racing environment again.  The Omicron variant surge had calmed substantially over the last month, I'm vaccinated, and I've already gotten the virus and recovered, so I'm immune, at least for now.  If Berkeley, of all places, is okay with thousands of runners being packed in together, I think it's okay.  We runners lined up behind the start line near Berkeley High School.  At 7:30 AM the horn sounded, and off we went.  The course went through some cool neighborhoods and through part of the UC Berkeley college campus, which apparently was a new modification beginning this year.  When I looked at the elevation profile before the race, the chart indicated that the first half of the course had some urban hills, while the second half was relatively flat, with a gradual incline up to the finish line during the last mile and a quarter or so.  Many factors, physical and psychological, can contribute to how runners feel during races.  For me, on this day anyways, everything seemed to align, and I felt good throughout the entire race.  Sam was busy all weekend staying at a client's apartment, so I did some solo snowboarding the day before at Dodge Ridge.  My legs felt strong, and I was in good spirit.

Now, back to half marathons versus ultramarathons.  They're both challenging for me, but in different ways.  People have heard me talk over and over about why ultramarathons are challenging.  The crazy long distance, enduring through the fatigue and pain, telling yourself that yes, you can go on, even if you're physically wrecked, etc.  But in ultramarathons, the approach is different.  I'm not going all out.  I'm either slowly running up the hills or hiking them.  When I hit a flat section or a downhill, I run between ten and twelve minute miles, depending on what point I'm at in the race, and how steep the terrain is.  If it's a flat course, I'm generally trying to average an eleven or twelve minute pace per mile to conserve energy over the long distance.  But when it comes to shorter distances like a half marathon or a 10K, I'm actually trying to run fast.  To me, road races are about throwing down miles as fast and comfortably as I possibly can.  It's still running in both instances, but it's a different method of running, and some would argue that it's a different sport.  And let me tell you this, running as fast as I can without self destructing is hard.  I'm still putting my body through challenges and pain, just like I would during an ultramarathon.  It's just a different approach.  So, that being said, half marathons are not easy for me, despite what people think.

At around mile five in Berkeley, I was running up a hill in a residential area.  It was draining, but as I approached the crest of the hill, I looked down at my watch.  Because I was feeling good, I had a pretty good pace going, even for running uphill.  The thoughts that I mentioned above were going through my mind, and I said to myself "well, this isn't an ultra, it's a half marathon, right?".  That was all I needed.  I decided to kick things into overdrive.  I got to the top of the hill, then threw down a thirteen minute two mile.  The rest of the race went well as I progressed along the course.  We were treated to awesome views of San Francisco across the bay, as we ran by the water, and I saw Kelly and Arjun during the out and back section of the course.  As I powered up the gradual incline during the last mile and got within about a quarter mile of the finish line, I looked down at my watch, and it hit me.  "Holy shit, I'm probably going to PR today" I thought to myself.  I just wanted to have a good race, I wasn't planning on going for a half marathon PR, but I surprised myself.  I finished in one hour and thirty-five minutes, breaking my previous PR by one minute.  I didn't beat it by a lot, but a PR is a PR.  Needless to say, I was pretty stoked!  Arjun also got a PR, coming in a little after me, Kelly finished four minutes ahead of me, and Maggie come in a little after Arjun.  We all ran a pretty consistent race, and agreed that it was a good course to get a PR on, despite the urban hills during the first half.  When we all hung out at the park where the finish line was, I realized that there were other Bay Area Runners members present, running the 10K race.  We shared stories over a delicious meal at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in Berkeley, before dispersing for the afternoon.  

Running those fast miles took a lot of my energy, and the next day, my short morning run was noticeably slower than normal for good reasons.  It was a reminder to me that both trail ultramarathons and shorter road races are both challenging in their own ways and anyone who runs even a 5K is a badass, no matter how long it takes.  Additionally, I was thankful that I had a good day out there.  Looking back, I guess the secret formula to running a half marathon PR is simply to do the following: go snowboarding the day before, eat Popeyes's the night before, and listen to David Bowie on the the way to the start line.  You'll PR every time LOL.  

Schitt's Creek Moments

Running is awesome.  I've been running for thirteen years now and I've run every distance from 5K to 100 miles.  I've done races in major cities like Chicago and Los Angeles, as well as trail races in the mountains and in towns that you'd miss if you blinked while driving.  A buddy of mine, Arjun, completed his first in person 50K race this past weekend in Auburn, California.  To most people Auburn is just a small town in the Sierra foothills with not much going on, but the town holds so many cool memories for me and so many others.  It's an iconic place for ultrarunners, especially in California.  After Arjun finished the Fourmidable 50K he commented on how he had some good chats with other runners along the way and received a lot of encouragement, which ultimately helped propel him to the finish line in one piece.  In most cases, it's a sharp contrast from road races in major cities where people have headphones on, the chatter among strangers is minimal, and people are hauling ass to the finish line.  The more social and unstructured vibe of ultramarathons is derived from many things.  The ultrarunner's personality, the remote nature of setting, the long distance, etc.  In my opinion, this vibe is also created by small town charm.  

As the title implies, this post is partially inspired by the Canadian sitcom Schitt's Creek, a show that Sam and I have been watching and enjoying quite a bit lately.  The show centers around a wealthy family of four who lives a lavish life in a mansion with many luxuries.  After their business manager gets busted for doing some some shady and illegal stuff, the family loses their wealth and is forced to move to Schitt's Creek, a small town in the boonies that they purchased years ago.  Much of the humor throughout the show stems from the family being forced to live in piece of crap motel, the personality clashes they have with the residents of the town, and their struggle to fit in with the community.  We've only watched up to about half way through season two, so I don't know what happens later on in the series, but from what I've seen so far, the theme of the show seems to be despite the personality and lifestyle differences among the wealthy family and the more modest residents of Schitt's Creek, the town has a certain charm to it, and the family has their place within the community.  They are ultimately accepted by the the citizens of Schitt's Creek despite, or perhaps because of, their differences.

Because I have a love for nature and the outdoors and have run several ultramarathons at this point, it's suffice to say that I've had several memorable experiences in the small towns that I've visited.  I've had my share of real life "Schitt's Creek" experiences, if you will.  There's a town called Pinecrest about a three hour drive from Silicon Valley.  I visit Pinecrest regularly during the winter time to do snow sports and I've taken Sam there several times as well.  There's a certain town in Central California on the way to Pinecrest that has a lot of Schitt's Creek like vibes.  One time we stayed in a motel in this town where there were several holes in the bedspread caused by burns from cigarettes or possibly more illicit substances.  The bathroom had mildew on the shower walls, and the next morning as we were waking up, we heard a female voice outside of our room.  "Linda!  I'm gonna beat your ass, Linda!"  I opened the door to see what was going on and saw a nervous looking chihuahua walking around by our door.  It turned out the dog's name was Linda and her owner was the lady in the room next to us.  Apparently she didn't like the way her dog was behaving.  We got the hell out of there and stopped at a local restaurant, not really sure what would be thrown at us next.  To our surprise, the food was delicious, the portions were big and inexpensive, and the people who worked there were very kind and generous to us.  It wasn't something were were used to, living in Silicon Valley.  I once heard a story from another fellow ultrarunner where he checked into his motel room in a small town in Wisconsin.  He opened the door and found a sexual toy right in the middle of the motel room floor.  Despite the incident, the small town charm was enough to prompt him to return several times.  After finishing the Canyons 100K in 2018, I stumbled into a bar in Foresthill for a celebratory beer.  I was still in my running gear, covered in dry sweat, dry mud caked on my legs.  There were five people inside, including the bartender.  On the surface, this group of guys was essentially Seabass and his buddies in the movie Dumb and Dumber.  They didn't know what to make of me, and I didn't know what to make of them at first, but the night ended with me sharing bits and pieces of my crazy journey and them buying me a beer.  I typically stop at a local doughnut shop in that same town in Central California on the way out to Pinecrest.  When I walk into this tiny shop I typically nod or wave to the people inside and they say hello back.  I like that.  In Silicon Valley, people would think I'm nuts for doing that in most cases.  I've had times where it would be either the night before an ultra or after I've finished the race, when I'd walk into a small restaurant in the town where I'm staying to have something to eat.  I was somebody new walking into a small restaurant in this tight knit community, so needless to say I'd get some surprised looks.  However, every single time, without fail, the people at these establishments and everywhere else in these towns have been very welcoming, and genuinely intrigued by the fact that I'm there to participate in an event that involves running a ridiculous amount of miles on a trail for an entire day, sometimes into the night. 

It's because of these experiences that I not only look forward to running the races themselves, but also spending weekends in these communities.  It's fun to go to the local restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and stores to experience the charm of these small towns.  I'm a guy who comes from a busy, fast paced city in California, a world away from the more simple ways of life in these small towns.  It's no secret that when I walk into a coffee shop or restaurant in these towns I stick out like a Golden Retriever in a kennel of Pomeranians.  But I have yet to have an experience where I haven't been welcomed and embraced by the people, although I'm fully aware that it could, and probably will happen at some point.  I don't think it's a situation where I enjoy the experience despite the differences, it's more like I enjoy the experience because of the differences.  Change is good and I enjoy experiencing it.  Spending weekends in these small towns when I run ultras is a nice break from my otherwise busy lifestyle and has become part of the experience.  It's a good example of how all kinds of people can connect despite, and because of their differences.

    

Making It A Routine

One of the reasons why a significant number of athletes don't like running is because they view it as punishment.  They dread what is about to come next when the coach looks at them and says "you screwed up, go run laps".  It's not fun.  Running on a track or a treadmill is also a significant part of cross training for many athletes.  Some enjoy it, others hate it.  And the folks who hate it view it as something that they don't necessarily want to do, but more like something they need to do to keep up with their training and perform to their maximum potential.  For a while I had that sentiment about strength training.  I didn't like it.  It just wasn't my thing.  I liked running through the wilderness, the mountains and through neighborhoods.  I felt most comfortable outside.  Hanging out in a gym lifting weights, doing squats, and climbing on a stair master just wasn't my jam.  Even though I've been running for about thirteen years, it wasn't until about two years ago that I began to really understand why strength workouts are so important for me as a runner.  First off, it's a great form of cross training.  My other forms of cross training include hiking, cross country skiing, snowboarding, and paddling, so why not throw something new into the equation?  Having some muscle and strength also lowers a runner's chances of getting injured, plus having strong core fitness can really help when I'm hauling myself up those mountain trails.  Not to mention the impact it can have on physical appearance, body strength that is needed for everyday life, and hormone production. 

Okay, so all is this makes sense.  This is great.  Strength training is awesome for runners.  But it still doesn't change the fact that I don't like it.  So, how the hell am I supposed to make it part of my cross training routine if I loathe the idea of getting a gym membership, forcing myself to go, and putting myself in a position where I feel completely out of place?  I know, I always say that putting ourselves in uncomfortable situations is how we build confidence, but sometimes you just have to draw the line between what works for you and what doesn't.  I've tried the gym, and it doesn't work for me.  So what could I do?  Truth be told, it's been a struggle to make strength training part of my routine.  I've been doing it on and off for the last two years, but I could never get a consistent routine down.  I've been fortunate to have friends in my running community who teach strength training classes and can offer good tips on what kind of workouts to incorporate into my routine, which is certainly a good start.  Ellen, a runner in the community, taught strength training classes at a local park here in Silicon Valley twice a week in the evenings for a while, but I was never able to attend due to my work schedule.  That all changed once the pandemic hit.  In April of 2020 Ellen began offering her classes virtually through Zoom.  Around the same time, Kelly, another runner who is also a personal trainer, began offering similar classes on opposite days of the week from Ellen's classes.  I was working remotely at the time so I had more flexibility in my schedule.  Bearing in mind the importance of strength training, I decided to join in on a class one day.  I enjoyed it and I participated in their classes pretty consistently for a while.  Eventually my attendance became sporadic, and ultimately I stopped going all together.  It wasn't that I didn't enjoy the classes, I just found it difficult to make them a consistent part of my routine.  Strength training wasn't my thing but I was trying to make myself do it for that very reason.  And to build the strength to be a better runner, of course.  Soon after, I tried doing strength training on my own terms, piecing together workouts I learned from Kelly and Ellen.  Again, it was consistent, until it wasn't.  Sam took notice.  She's big on strength training, and I told her that I was having a hard time fitting strength workouts into my schedule and because they weren't my favorite thing, I found it difficult to incorporate them into my routine.  

One day, after some encouragement from Sam, I decided to schedule a meeting with Kelly to voice my frustration and get some of her input.  I told her that I wanted to make strength training a consistent part of my life, but I was having a tough go at it.  I confessed that it wasn't something I was particularly fond of, but I knew it would be good for my running and my physical health.  We talked a lot about the positive impact that strength training can have, and Kelly encouraged me to start small.  She explained that doing even ten minutes of strength workouts a day consistently would be a good start.  I listened and digested this information.  "Okay" I thought.  "Ten minutes a day, I can swing that.  Everyone has ten minutes in a day to do something".  Then I remembered that starting small was how I brought running into my routine.  It started with two or three mile runs four days a week, and thirteen years later, I had created a monster.  I went from ten to twelve miles a week to running stupidly long distances that sometimes take eighteen hours to finish.  Maybe I was being to forceful.  Perhaps I had been trying too hard to make strength training a regular part of my life, and I should start small, be patient, and let it happen naturally.  Afterall, nothing good comes from trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

Did this approach work? I don't really know yet, but I can say that I currently have a fourteen day streak going where I've done some form of strength training everyday.  It's not much, but I'm starting small, and at least it's been consistent.  Consistency is the key to creating a lifestyle, so we'll see what happens.  I'm slowly noticing a transformation, and I'm excited to see how long I can keep this streak going and where it will take me.  More updates to come!

Therapy Running

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

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

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

  

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

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

                                                            Yeah, I need new running shoes

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

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

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

                                                        Making our way to the start line

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

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

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

                                                Approaching the summit of Squaw Peak

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

                                          Running downhill among Thunder Mountain Trail

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

                                                             Climbing up to Snow King

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

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

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