Mental Health Awareness Month And Back To Bishop

Now that it's been nearly seventeen years since I've lost my mom, it almost seems fitting to me that Mother's Day occurs in May every year, which also happens to be mental health awareness month. Of all the hardships that I've endured in my lifetime, the untimely death of my mother ranks at the top among the most difficult to overcome, without a doubt.  It was especially hard for me because I was nineteen at the time and too young to understand how this kind of tragedy can impact my mental health.  

It was a chilly November day in 2005.  I was rummaging around my apartment not too far from my college campus getting ready to go to work.  My two friends and roommates, Sean and Hugh, were on campus consumed with their studies, so I was alone when there was a knock on the door.  When I answered I saw my dad standing there.  Because of the look in his eyes and the fact that he showed up unannounced, I could tell right away that something was wrong.  He began crying, hugged me, and told me that mom had died that morning.  I don't remember a whole lot of how the rest of that night went.  I remember being in too much shock to cry.  I remember gathering clothes and other items and throwing them into a bag and riding back to my hometown with my dad in the backseat of my aunt's boyfriend's car.  He drove and kept pretty quiet while my dad and I attempted to console each other.  I knew my mom had a drinking problem.  It started late in my high school years.  She was what could arguably be described as a functioning alcoholic.  She hid her drinking well and I was too young to fully understand the devastating effects that it was having on her body.  Perhaps I was in some denial as well.  She always liked to drink, but for reasons that I still don't know to this day, her drinking got out of hand when I was around sixteen years old.  Sadly, for my mom, there was no chance at ever getting help for her problem.  She died in the early hours of November 10th, 2005 in her sleep.  The cause was organ failure due to excessive drinking.  My sister, who was sixteen at the time, found her lifeless body in her bed when she was getting ready to go to school that morning.  

The next several months subsequent to her passing felt like a haze.  After the funeral and spending time with my family, I returned to college a week later.  You would think that I would go to therapy or quit drinking given what I had just been through.  You think I did that?  Absolutely not.  Instead I tried to go about my life like nothing happened and that everything was fine.  My friends were worried about me.  They were spooked by how normal I was acting and how I would casually mention the fact that my mom just died with very little emotion.  People repeatedly asked me how I was able to be so nonchalant about the situation.  My response was always "it happened.  It's over, I can't do anything about it.  So why be upset?".  I kept partying, I kept drinking, and I kept trying to live a normal life even though I knew my life was anything but normal.  That summer I had a full time summer job that I liked.  My dad, sister, and I took a trip to Hawaii with my aunt and uncle.  But something was strangely amiss.  It almost felt like I was dreaming.  Like I was there, but I wasn't there.  Looking back now, I think this was the result of my nineteen year old brain trying to get over the shock of an unexpected tragedy.  That next year at Western, my roommates and I moved into a house with two more of our buddies.  The partying and getting hammered every weekend continued as if nothing had happened.  It was around December of 2006, during my junior year of college when things took a turn.  My reality was no longer hazy and I now began to feel a different kind of energy in the air.  I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but I felt like I was being watched.  Not necessarily being spied on or stalked, but watched.  Of course, I concealed all of my feelings from my friends and family.  On the surface, everything was fine.  I was just another college kid at Western whose only cares in the world were passing my classes, making it to work on time, and finding a good party.  But I now had this underlying feeling that someone was watching me.  There were times when I felt okay and other times when I felt scared.  I began questioning everything I had done in my life up to that point.  Was I a good person?  Was I doing the right thing?  I'm not a very religious guy but I began wondering if I died would I go to Heaven or Hell.  All I knew was that my thinking was becoming clearer and I became more aware of the decisions I was making and how they affected others.  I wasn't a bad guy, I was a typical college kid.  But I began to realize that the universe had other plans for me than being a typical college kid.  Halfway through my junior year I joined a business fraternity, made a lot of new friends, and had more exposure to the business world.  I began treating people with more understanding and compassion.  I started making smarter choices.  As the year went on and all these things happened I gained a new perspective on what was happening.  I wasn't being watched, someone was looking out for me.  It could have been my mom, or someone else up there.  But someone was watching out for me, that was for sure.  It almost felt like a warning sign to not go down the wrong path.

Life became simpler once I understood what was going on.  I began to realize what was important in life and things took on a new meaning.  The biggest takeaways were don't take things for granted, and you only have one life, don't waste it.  My senior year of college turned out to be my best of all four of the years.  I'd been through a horrific tragedy, gone through several phases of grieving, and adopted a new mindset.  I still went to parties and bars when I was a senior, but it wasn't until then that I really began to appreciate the social aspect of partying.  Instead of seeing how drunk I could get I began seeing partying as an opportunity to socialize, strengthen the relationships I had with my friends, and create new friendships.  I discussed my mom's death frequently with other people, and talking about it made me feel at peace.  Instead of chasing girls like I had in the past, I looked forward to just having conversations with them.  In my earlier college years I'd show up to parties dressed to impress in nice clothes, but at this point I would come home from work at 11:30 PM and show up to house parties in a hoodie, gym shorts, and flip flops.  I would still have a few beers, but I was more interested in socializing than seeing how much beer I could drink.  In other words, I was doing what I wanted, making smarter decisions, and living my best life up to that point.  I made a lot of great friendships in my business fraternity (shout out to Delta Sigma Pi), made friends with the people I worked with at my restaurant job, had a great spring break trip to South Padre Island with my friends, I smoked cigarettes for a little while but eventually kicked them, I did decently in my classes, and ultimately I graduated in June of 2008.  By the time I left Western, my heart was full.  At twenty-two years old I still wasn't very knowledgeable about mental health.  I hadn't been to a single therapy session or taken a single anti-depressant pill.  Perhaps some mental heath treatment would have done me good back then, but who knows.  I'll admit that it wasn't healthy of me to conceal my feelings from my friends and pretend like my life was totally normal in the months after my mom's passing, but I have absolutely no regrets.  I wouldn't change one damn thing about how things happened.  They played out the way they did, and I felt that by the time I returned home from college, my mental health as I knew it had improved tremendously and it was as good as it could have been at that time.  And that was before I discovered running...  

Speaking of running, the Bishop High Sierra 50-Miler is next weekend!  I'm really looking forward to this race.  Running, especially running ultramarathons through nature has been a major component of improving my mental health over the years, but we'll get into that in a different blog story.  Most people don't know where the town of Bishop is or anything about it.  I can't say I blame them.  It's a small town of around 3,500 people that lies sandwiched between the foothills of the Eastern Sierras and the Nevada Border in the Owen's Valley region of Eastern California.  The views of the mountains from the town are breathtaking.  While most of the town is residential, the main street that dissects the small downtown area features an eclectic mix of family owned restaurants, bakeries, coffee shops, bars, motels, and outdoor activity stores.  Given that the town also serves as a gateway to Mammoth Lakes and other resort areas further up highway 395, there are also several gas stations, fast food restaurants, and big chain grocery and drug stores on the town's main street.  Let's talk about getting to Bishop.  From Sunnyvale, it's about a six-and-a-half hour drive that involves driving past Pinecrest on highway 108 and up over Sonora Pass, then south on the 395.  It's a beautiful drive through the California mountains and wilderness and something that I'm looking forward to as part of the adventure.  Sam will be spending a long weekend next weekend in New Orleans with some of her girlfriends celebrating a bachelorette party, so this will be a solo trip.  Her flight leaves early in the morning on Friday so I'll be dropping her off at the airport on my way out to Bishop.  Even though she won't be drinking because we're expecting our little dude in just a few short months, I'm happy that she's getting the opportunity to go on this trip.  She's been putting in a lot of work over the last several months, not to mention she's been growing a kid.  She deserves to have a fun weekend with her friends in the jazz and shrimp capital of America.  Lastly, let's talk about the race.  I ran the 100K race in 2019 as a final training run for Tahoe Rim Trail 100, so I at least have the advantage of having been on the course in the past.  I successfully finished The Canyons 100K a few weeks ago and I gotta say, those climbs kicked my ass.  Having run the Bishop High Sierra ultras before, I can say that this race, although still a long distance, is more gentle on the body than Canyons.  There is about 8,800 feet of climbing, most of the course is at around 8,000 feet of elevation, and the terrain is composed mainly of jeep roads that cut through the Eastern Sierras.  Most of the course is above tree line, and therefore is pretty exposed with little shade to hide in.  The forecast for next Saturday is looking like lots of sunshine with a low of forty-five degrees and a high of around eighty-three degrees Fahrenheit.  It'll be a warm day, so I'll need to remember to stay hydrated out there.  It'll hopefully be a great day and I'm looking forward to a weekend trip back in Bishop.  

Since it's mental health awareness month, I'd like to say that I'm grateful that I finally made the decision at thirty-one years old in 2018 to go into therapy.  I've been seeing my therapist for four years now and it's done wonders for my mental well being.  I can't think of a better way to acknowledge mental health awareness month than by thinking of my mom on Mother's Day, running an ultramarathon in a beautiful place, and writing blog posts about my life.  Hopefully I come back from Bishop with a fun race report to write!

The Decision: My 2022 Canyons 100K Story

In June of 2021 I took a step forward in my running and bought a Garmin GPS watch.  It was a great purchase and 100% worth the investment.  I love all of the features it offers and it's served me well over the last several months.  But as I waddled my way down Bath Road heading for the entrance to the Western States Trail, thirty-four miles into the 2022 Canyons 100K, all I could think about was how much I hated my watch in that moment.  I almost decided to take it off.  "GPS watches are the devil" I thought to myself.  My watch was inflicting a form of psychological torture on me that was making me seriously question whether or not I was going to be able to make it to the finish line.  My watch was not fully charged, so I didn't activate the tracking for this race, however I was able to track my heart rate, along with the time, date, and several other pieces of data.  I was running downhill on a winding paved road through the wilderness at a very modest pace, probably no faster than twelve minutes per mile.  I kept looking at my watch and my heart rate was hovering in the mid to high 150s.  That seemed exceptionally high for running downhill at such an easy pace.  I was becoming more than slightly concerned.  What the hell was happening?  My heart seemed to be operating in overdrive and it freaked me out when I pondered what the long term consequences could be.  Would I eventually pass out from exhaustion on the trail?  Would I have to be rushed to the hospital to get emergency treatment to lower my heart rate?  I was moving like a slug, but I slowed down even more to see if my pulse would decrease as a result.  It remained the same.  It just wouldn't freaking go down.  I was now faced with a very tough decision.  Do I keep going and risk having potentially serious issues later on in the race?  Or do I turn around and walk a mile back to Foresthill, drop out of the race, and cut my losses now?  It seems like such a simple decision to make looking back now, but with eight-and-a-half hours and thirty-four miles of running on the trails of the Sierra foothills having its effects on my psychological state, I couldn't bring myself to take a stand in either direction.  Did I have a lot to lose?  Not really.  Getting a DNF (did not finish) is never fun, but it happens.  It's part of the sport.  Sometimes things just don't work out and we either get pulled from the course or we have to make the painful decision to drop out.  A lot of things can happen over a one-hundred kilometer distance.  If I DNF'ed, I also wouldn't qualify for the 2023 Western States 100.  That would be a bummer, but it wouldn't be the end of the world either.  On the other hand, even in my foggy state of mind, I knew that if I voluntarily quit the race I would later have feelings of regret.  I would be pissed at myself for not pushing harder and taking a chance.  It's not like I was in a world of pain.  I hadn't fallen down or gotten injured along the course.  In fact, I really wasn't hurting very much.  I was tired and fatigued, but I was mostly scared of how hard my heart was apparently working, even running downhill at a thirteen minute per mile pace.  As I plodded along I pondered my next move.  It was an important, yet simple decision.  I either keep going, or I turn around, head back to Foresthill, and call it a day.  But I just couldn't decide.

Ten hours earlier, my alarm went off at 3:30 AM.  I clicked on the table light in my small, yet comfortable room at Motel6 just off highway 80 in Auburn, California.  I arrived in town the evening before and had gotten a pretty decent night's sleep.  Most nights before ultramarathons my mind is focused on the journey ahead, and it can be challenging to keep calm and get good sleep, but last night seemed to be okay.  Unfortunately Sam was busy taking care of a client and was not able to join me on this trip, so I was traveling solo.  "Rise and shine" I said out loud as I stood up out of bed and stretched my arms.  I went through the whole ritual of pre-race preparation and soon hopped in my car, stopped to get coffee, and arrived at Overlook Park at 4:30 AM, where I would be catching a shuttle to the start line.  There was a slight modification to the course compared to last year.  Unlike in 2021 when we started at Overlook Park, we would be starting in downtown Auburn this year and heading towards Robie Point and down the trail into the valley.  The starting area was pulsing with activity as I departed the bus.  Several runners were standing around a firepit to keep warm.  Others jogged back and forth down the street to warm up, and several others, including me, were heading towards the pre-race packet pickup area.  It felt energizing to see this downtown area so lively at 4:45 in the morning.  I thought about how much this race had grown since I first ran it in 2017.  Back then it was more of a local underground ultramarathon.  But as the years went by, the notoriety of The Canyons Endurance Runs circulated within the ultramarathon community.  There were some high profile ultrarunners participating in this year's race, including Sage Canady, Jared Hazen, and Brittany Peterson.  Additionally, the popularity of the race and the efficiency in which it is executed led to Canyons becoming the first North American race to be part of the UTMB World Series.  The number of runners had almost doubled since the first year I ran.  I was damn glad to see it.  Epic Endurance Events does a phenomenal job of putting on these races and they deserved every bit of recognition that they were getting.  It felt empowering to be part of an event that had developed such a reputation in the ultrarunning scene.  

The first several miles of the race went by pleasantly.  At 5:00 AM we charged in a pack across the start line, wove through the streets of downtown Auburn for a couple of miles, passed Robie Point, and began making our way into the valley towards the American River.  It was the early stages of the race and the transition to the narrow trail from the paved streets created a bottleneck effect, and we were forced to run at only a modest pace along the trail to avoid stepping on the person in front of us.  An ant trail of glowing headlamps illuminated the course in the distance.  Earlier in the week the area had been hit with rain and when we crossed over No Hands Bridge a few miles into the race, we were forced to walk on the edge near the railing past a giant mud puddle to avoid getting our shoes and socks drenched.  The first indications of dawn were appearing in the sky shortly after crossing the bridge, however the moon still shined brightly in the clear sky.  The sun had made its way into the sky when I arrived at the first aid station eight miles into the race.  I paused there long enough to refill my two hand held water bottles and have a couple of corners of peanut butter and jelly sandwich before pressing onward.  The terrain was pretty run friendly for the most part and consisted mainly of a single track trail that moved along rolling hills through brush and wilderness with the occasional meadow.  The American River was now visible in the valley below.  This section of the course offered a sweeping view of the greenish blue river flowing in between mountains covered with green Douglus Fur trees.  I admired the marvelous setting as I ran, while also making sure I paid attention to the course so I wouldn't fall on my face.  Shortly after the first aid station I came upon the first big climb of the course along the Foresthill Divide Loop.  The uphill was tough, but we were ten miles in, so I still had a lot of fuel left in the tank.  I continued along, waved to my buddy Scott Rokis, who was taking race photos on the trailside, and eventually arrived at the second aid station at Drivers Flat, mile sixteen.  This was the finish line for the 25K course and the first few finishers were already making their way in.  The path from Drivers Flat was a wide fire road that descended further into the valley for a few miles.  I had a nice downhill section and by the time I reached the bottom of the valley I was running parallel to the American River.  I passed by Rucky Chucky, and soon the wide jeep road gave way to a narrow trail loaded with overgrown vegetation.  I chatted with some other runners as we climbed up the switchbacks to the next aid station at Cal2.  A guy behind me introduced himself as Dan.  As we climbed, he told stories about how his parents had immigrated to the United States from Italy and settled in Silverton, Colorado of all places, before moving to Santa Cruz, where Dan was born and raised.  When I asked him how long he'd been running ultras, he replied "about seven years.  I started when I was fifty-nine, and I'm sixty-six now".  That was about the coolest thing I could have heard at that point in the race.  Dan was a testament to the fact that it's never too late in life to discover new things and make lifestyle changes.  On the surface he was an authentically happy guy.  I'm an authentically happy guy at thirty-five, and I remember hoping to still be that way when I was sixty-six, just like Dan.  I chatted with a woman in front of me about how Sam and I were expecting our first baby this summer.  She went on to tell me that having kids is the most exciting adventure in life and how her husband and five year old son would be waiting for her at the finish line that night.  She joking said she couldn't finish too late or her son would fall asleep by the time she arrived.  It felt surreal to be talking to people during an ultra in 2022 about expecting my first baby.  I definitely would not have predicated that during the 2021 Canyons 100K, that's for sure.

After passing through the Cal2 aid station, I powered up the elevator shaft, which is a short, but steep climb.  The trail rolled on towards Foresthill while gradually gaining elevation.  The course was a net uphill, meaning that although there were several ascents and descents along the way, we would be finishing approximately 3,800 feet higher in altitude than where we started.  Despite the fatigue of running thirty miles beginning to take its toll, I was in pretty good shape as I began the arduous climb up to Foresthill.  During the climb however, I began to deteriorate.  The incline felt substantially tougher than what I remembered.  And I've done it several times.  My steps were slow and labored and I was panting heavily.  I was tempted to move to the side of the trail to rest, but I didn't quite feel like I needed to do that.  Not yet anyways.  I made my way up the switchbacks, step by step, moving along like a snail, and eventually a gate came into view.  This gate is where the course would deposit me onto a paved street in a quiet neighborhood in the town of Foresthill, which meant that the aid station at the thirty-two mile mark was about a half a mile ahead.  When I arrived at the check point in front of the Foresthill Elementary School, I refilled my water bottles, grabbed some snacks, and sat down for the first time all day.  It was 12:50 PM and I had plenty of time before the cutoff, so I wasn't concerned about rushing back onto the course.  Even though it's branded as a 100K, the course is actually 2.7 miles short of one-hundred kilometers, clocking in at 59.3 miles.  "Thirty-two down, twenty-seven to go" I noted to myself.  Having time off my feet felt nice and I wasn't in too much pain as I stood back up and made my way to the exit and back on to the course after resting for about ten minutes.  I felt pretty good and ready to tackle the rest of the race.  That sentiment changed pretty quickly a couple of miles down the course from Foresthill.  My watch was showing that my heart rate was hovering in the 150s, which seemed way too high considering I was moving downhill at only about a thirteen minute per mile pace.  I was caught in a psychological tailspin, torn between making the decision to keep moving or go back to Foresthill and drop out.  The remaining twenty-five miles included the tough canyons section of the course, and the terrain was more difficult that what I'd already covered.  I was convinced that because I was not able to get my heart rate down, I would suffer more dire consequences if I kept going.  After wrestling with my conscience, I finally shared my concerns with a runner along side me.  "Dude, don't worry too much about your heart rate.  If you're feeling good, keep going.  You can make it.".  And that was that.  The decision was crystal clear.  I would keep moving forward.  The camaraderie of other runners in this sport is a powerful thing.  Sometimes other runners can provide just the right words of encouragement at just the right time, and that's enough to keep your race going.  "No turning back now" I said to myself as I approached the river crossing in Volcano Canyon.  

To my relief, my heart rate dropped into the 120s as I made the climb out of Volcano Canyon towards Michigan Bluff.  During the climb I told myself I would keep moving and if I got pulled from the course, that would be okay.  At least I would go out in a blaze of glory.  I arrived at the next aid station in Michigan Bluff with plenty of time to spare before the cutoff, and I sipped some hot soup broth from a paper cup.  The volunteers were super cool and enthusiastic, but they were also focused on keeping us moving, so after a few short minutes of rest, I resumed forward progress.  I had a nice cadence going down the switchbacks into El Dorado Canyon, but as soon as I crossed the bridge over the river at the bottom of the gorge, mile forty-two, I began the longest and toughest climb of the course.  In front of me stood a 2,300 foot ascent over three-and-a-half miles to the next aid station.  Nice.  It's not like I didn't know this was coming though.  I'd done this climb multiple times before, but this time it felt slower and harder.  My heart rate again dropped into the 120s, which was comforting, but the uphill just went on and on.  It took me an hour and a half to get to the next aid station at the crest of the climb at Deadwood.  After I contended with this climb for about as long as I could without stopping to rest, the check point emerged through the brush.  Halle-friggin'-lujah.  Whenever I roll into an aid station during an ultra I try my best to show enthusiasm and I always make a point to thank the volunteers for being out there.  They really are what make these races happen.  They always take care of us and therefore I always try my best to show appreciation and friendliness towards them. This time was no exception, however shortly after arriving, I promptly made my way over to a camping chair and flopped into it.  I had gotten my ass handed to me on that climb from El Dorado Canyon and I needed to sit down and regroup for a few minutes.  From here, I would follow a loop that would bring me back through this aid station at mile fifty, which would be the final check point of the race.  The loop was not overly challenging from a technical standpoint.  I passed by Devil's Thumb along the way and followed the rolling trail along the mountain side.  I passed Scott Rokis again during this loop who snapped some pictures of me and congratulated me on my engagement to Sam and our expected kid.  This section provided yet another beautiful view, this time of the snowy mountains near Lake Tahoe in the distance.  The view was a nice distraction and although my running was slow, it felt effortless at times.  Back at the aid station, I sipped another cup of hot broth.  I had stopped eating solid food after Michigan Bluff but the hot soup was keeping me going.  I ran into Kaycee, a volunteer who I'd seen at countless races I had done in the past.  She was a great volunteer and has dedicated a lot of her time to working aid stations at several local races.  She filled my water bottles and reminded me that this was the last aid station before the finish line and advised me to conserve my resources wisely.  With that, I made my way back onto the trail for the final nine mile stretch.  

The last nine miles included a three-mile descent into another canyon followed by a six-mile climb that had some steep sections, but leveled out towards the end.  About halfway down the descent the sun had set for the day and I switched on my headlamp.  The bridge at the bottom of the gorge had been damaged by a massive tree that had fallen on it, but it was still sturdy enough to cross.  I hit yet another wall as I began climbing up the trail towards China Wall.  This one was brutal.  Darkness had now taken over and I was powered by the light of my headlamp.  I walked up the trail very slowly, step by awkward step, trying to keep moving forward through the steep terrain as best as I could.  It was at this point in the race that I was no longer worried about my heart rate.  I attributed my high pulse to the fact that my heart had been working in overdrive for the past fifteen hours, and that was just the way it was going to be.  In reality, my heart was perfectly healthy and fine and I had nothing to be concerned about.  I was happy that I made the decision after Foresthill to keep going, especially since by now my chances of finishing were looking promising.  I began doing trail math.  The cutoff to qualify for Western States was nineteen hours, which meant I had to finish by midnight.  However, the overall cutoff for the race was twenty hours, at 1:00 AM.  It was shortly after 10:00 PM and I had about five miles left to go.  If I was going to try to make the Western States cutoff, it would be close.  Eventually the course leveled out and I was finally able to take a minute to enjoy the stillness and tranquility of the night time wilderness.  Contrary to most of my friends who are runners, I actually love running in the dark.  It's great fun.  Even though what I was doing at this point was hardly running, I kept moving forward as I admired the setting and tried to take it all in.  It was a cloudless night in the mountains.  The moon was shining brightly above and the sky was filled with millions of stars.  The distant mountains took on a black tone and rolled on like waves in an ocean.  I came upon a guy who was puking on the trailside.  "You alright man?" I asked.  He gave me a thumbs up and nodded his head.  His headlamp illuminated the steaming vomit puddle underneath him.  "Let it all out dude.  You'll feel much better" I said as I passed by.  I could hear him retching behind me as I continued into the night.  With three miles left to go, the distance was closing in, but so was the clock.  I tried to keep moving as fast as I could to chase the Western States cutoff.  Eventually snow began to emerge on the sides of the trail.  The course was now at 5,000 feet of elevation and while it had rained in the lower elevation areas earlier in the week, it snowed up in this area.  Before long, the terrain surrounding the trail was covered in snow.  It was really cool to look at and I loved how it looked in the moonlight, but unfortunately the snowmelt turned the trail into a muddy shit show.  The terrain was soft and gushy with mud puddles in the middle of the trail every fifty feet.  It became almost impossible to run on this section of the trail.  As I made my way around the muddy edge of a large puddle, my feet slipped out from underneath me and I came crashing down into the water, soaking my shoes, socks and the left side of my body.  "Fuck!" I exclaimed.  I was pissed not only because I had fallen, but because the temperature had now dropped into the high thirties.  Wet and cold are a recipe for disaster.  I picked up my water bottle out of the mud puddle and tried to keep moving forward as swiftly as I could, despite being rattled by the fall.  The guy who was puking on the trailside eventually caught up with me and we leapfrogged for a little while.  His name was Tucker and it was his first time on these trails.  He was from the Connecticut suburbs of New York City, and had moved to California a few months prior.  After a few minutes of idle chat, he pushed ahead and I wished him good luck.  

The finish line at the China Wall Stating Area was now less than a mile ahead and I could hear the finish line announcer talking over the P.A. system in the distance.  As I got closer I could also hear music being played.  I was on the home stretch.  I looked at my watch and came to the realization that I was not going to make the cutoff to qualify for Western States.  It was a bummer, but was I angry about it?  No way.  I had come too far and gone through too much to be angry at myself for not qualifying for Western States.  I already had three years worth of tickets in the hat, and the qualifiers do not have to be consecutive years.  In other words, I could qualify next year and my tickets from the past three years would still be thrown in the hat.  Even though I wouldn't qualify for Western States, I had more than enough time to make the twenty hour cutoff for finishing the race.  I kept Tucker within eye sight for a while as the trail zig zagged through the trees, and before long, the junction where the trail intersected with a desolate road emerged.  This meant that once I crossed the road, the finish line was about a quarter of a mile ahead.  The music grew louder and the lights from the finish line emerged through the trees.  I came around a snowbank, trudged through some more mud, and eventually made my way to the finish chute in the China Wall Staging Area parking lot.  People cheered, screamed out my name, I threw my arms in the air, fought back my tears, and tore across the finish line shortly after midnight, finishing in nineteen hours and five minutes.  Immediately afterwards I was hugged by two volunteers and presented with my finishers medal and hat.  I was overcome with emotion.  I had missed the Western States cutoff my a mere five minutes, but at that moment, that point was irrelevant.  I finished and that's all that mattered.  So many different emotions were felt during this race.  Joy, elation, euphoria, anxiety, anger, tiredness, and everything in between.  I had been through so much in the past nineteen hours that it really did feel like I'd lived an entire lifetime in one day.  I have a similar feeling whenever I finish an ultramarathon, but every time it's a little different.  There's always a story to be told.  It had been one hell of an awesome day.  

After warming myself by a fire for a few minutes, I boarded a warm bus that would take me back to my car at Overlook Park.  Sam and I talked on the phone during this bus ride until I lost reception.  Her, a few of my other running friends, and a few of my family members from back home had been tracking me all day.  The fact that especially my family stayed up until 3:00 AM their time to track me is something for which I will be forever grateful.  The support I get from Sam, my friends, and my family will never be matched and is something that I will always cherish.  After the call with Sam dropped I promptly fell into a deep sleep in my cozy bus seat and woke up an hour later when the bus arrived at Overlook Park.  By the time I eventually made it back to my hotel room I had been awake for almost twenty-four hours and knocked right out after taking a shower.  Shortly after waking up the next morning, I threw up.  It didn't really come as much of a surprise.  The day before I was in motion for nineteen hours and had nothing to eat except aid station food i.e. chips, M&Ms, soup broth, and PB&J sandwiches.  Sometimes you have to throw up to mitigate nausea, and when I finished, relief was instant.  After checking out and having a big breakfast at Black Bear Diner, I made my way back home to the San Francisco Bay Area.  Now, two weeks later, I'm fully recovered, running again, and the itching from the poison oak rash has finally disappeared.  I spent some time thinking about what held me back from qualifying for Western States.  Going into the race, I thought my training had been pretty good, but one thing that I didn't do enough of was vertical training.  Those climbs kicked my butt and I should have put in more training climbing up trails, not just running on flat surfaces.  Something to remember for next time.  Even though ultramarathons involve a lot of psychological toughness, you need to put in the physical training as well.  You're not going to do a 100K race with 14,900 feet of elevation gain without having paid your dues.  I was grateful to have finished the race, but if I'm going to get into and finish Western States, I need to do better.  But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.  Meanwhile, the Bishop High Sierra 50-Miler is in two weeks.  Can't wait!

Canyons 2022 Prequel: A New Year, A New Story

December 11th, 2021 started out as just a typical Saturday.  After some running, Sam and I went to Target to buy some holiday decorations, we walked some dogs for one of her clients, we laughed at a car that was decorated with a reindeer nose and antlers and throwing a road rage fit, and eventually we made it back home in the early afternoon.  We had a discussion while we were out running errands, and Sam decided it was a good idea to take a pregnancy test because she had been feeling a little off for the last couple of weeks.  I didn't really think much of it.  Sure, Sam and I had talked about getting married and starting a family, and honestly we weren't taking very many preventative measures, though we were not trying for a baby just yet.  My preference was to get married in late 2022 or early 2023, then try for a baby about a year after that.  At that moment, we both had it in our minds that Sam was only taking this pregnancy test to rule out the possibility of being pregnant so she could then possibly consult a doctor to find out why she wasn't feeling like herself.  I was in the kitchen washing something in the sink while she was taking the test.  When I turned around I saw Sam standing there looking at me like I had just sat up out of a casket.  "What's up?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.  She didn't say anything.  She didn't even blink.  She extended her arm and handed me the pregnancy test.  I was looking at it upside down, so I turned it right side up.  The test was unmistakably positive.  The two lines, which indicate a positive pregnancy test, were steadfast and prominent on the white background.  I looked up at her with the same look on my face.  "Oh my God, you're prego".  I replied in a half excited, half terrified tone.  I immediately guided Sam over to the couch so we could sit down and gather ourselves.  We spent the next hour talking things over, trying to process what the hell had just transpired.  My mind was in overdrive, trying to come to terms with this life changing news that had just been delivered to me.  I was shocked, but it wasn't like I was so caught off guard that I started spazzing out.  I knew we had talked about doing this.  This was part of our plan.  We weren't necessarily trying to prevent a pregnancy, but we weren't trying for one either.  Sam had even brought up concerns in the past of whether or not she could have kids at thirty-eight years old.  But now it was happening.  Our lives were about to change. 

When the shock wore off Sam became overjoyed and excited almost immediately.  She was all about it.  For me, that wasn't exactly the case.  Yes, I was happy, but I had concerns.  My first thought was "can I financially afford to take care of a kid right now?"  My second thought was "Is my life as I know it over, or is it only going to change?".  All I could think about was "am I ready for this right now?".  It took me three or four days to wrap my head around all of this.  After I took some time to process this news, I determined that yes, I could afford to take care of a kid, and no, I don't think my life necessarily has to end, although it will change quite a bit.  I eventually came to the realization that it was time for this to happen.  We're not getting any younger, after all, and I feel that we're very fortunate to have gotten pregnant without really trying.  Who knows if we will be this lucky the second time around?  We had a great holiday season and we gradually shared the news with our friends and family.  Weeks and months passed, ultrasounds were done, pregnancy audio books were purchased and listened to at various times, Sam and I got engaged, she went through all of the fun and not so fun phases of pregnancy, her business grew and developed, we became closer than before, and so much more.  It's now mid-April, we're five-and-a-half months in, and Sam is taking it like a champ.  She's expanded her business, done things that are outside of her comfort zone, eliminated toxic people from her life, remained physically active, and improved her mental health, all while growing a little dude.  I'm incredibly proud of her for all that she's done.  

For the past five years, mid-April has also been a pivotal time of year for me.  At this time of year, snow season is coming to an end, I'm logging more miles, and the weather in California is shifting from Winter to Spring.  Oh yeah, and it's almost time for me to run sixty-two miles from Auburn across the Sierra Nevada foothills to Foresthill.  This journey that I've been partaking in since 2017 is known as "The Canyons 100K" or simply "Canyons".  I've been running this race every year for a little while for multiple reasons.  First of all, it's a friggin' awesome race.  It's very well executed, the aid stations are great, the volunteers are electric, and the course is beautiful.  Along the route from Auburn to the outskirts of Foresthill, runners experience mountains, canyons, valleys, trees, bridges, rivers, creeks, streams, lots of climbing, lots of descending, highs, and lows.  The path ranges from a narrow single track trail to a wide fire road, with a small stretch of paved road near the halfway point at Foresthill Elementary School.  Another reason why I run Canyons is because it's a Western States qualifier.  Each year that I finish within the allotted time, I get a lotto ticket into the drawing for Western States the following year.  The reason why I choose this particular race as a qualifier is because it's only about two-and-a-half hours from where I live in the San Francisco Bay Area, and it's run on the same trails as the second half of Western States.  Western States is my dream race and experiencing these trails first hand is an exciting experience, and it will hopefully prepare me well for when I eventually do get accepted into the race.  

Canyons typically kicks off my ultramarathon season every year.  And each year, life is a little different than the prior year.  There are always new experiences, new stories, and new things going on leading up to the race.  I like to think I'm in a pretty damn good place this year.  Sam and I have been together for a while, we have a kid on the way, we're engaged, she has been busy growing her business, things have been going well for me at work, it was a pretty good snow season, etc.  I would say my training is in a pretty good place too.  I've been logging lots of long runs over the last several months, which ultimately peaked at my all night fifty-kilometer run through Tahoe a few weeks back.  I've also been doing vertical training both on the trail and the treadmill.  And, get this, I started going to the gym about a month ago.  For a while I was doing low key strength training on my balcony with a yoga mat and resistance band, but I've recently been going to the gym in our apartment complex and training with weights four days a week.  Hopefully developing my core fitness will work to my advantage when I'm hauling my ass up the climbs that I'll be tackling on Saturday.  Sam has been away all week staying at a client's house in Los Altos.  She's been gone a lot lately and I miss her, but I know she'll be cheering me on in spirit even though she won't be accompanying me on the trip to Auburn this year.  

How will this year's race go?  Hopefully it will go well, but it's 100 kilometers with 15,000 feet of climbing.  You never really know.  Every year has a different story leading up the race and a different story to be told after the race is over.  The weather for Saturday is looking pretty good.  Plenty of sunshine with lows in the low forties, highs in the high sixties coming off a few days of rain.  I feel that I'm as ready as I'm going to be, and all I can do on Saturday is give it all I got.  I get nineteen hours on the course to qualify for Western States and twenty hours to finish the race.  If I don't make the cut off times I'll be forced to drop out.  I'll be driving out to Auburn on Friday and the race starts at 5:00 AM on Saturday morning.  We'll see how things go.  Regardless of what happens, I'll have a story to tell, but hopefully that story will involve a strong finish and a 2023 Western States lotto ticket.   

Powered By Pop-Tarts

It was Saturday night in Palo Alto, California.  I sat at an outdoor table at an Italian restaurant with Sam and eleven of our friends, partaking in a birthday dinner.  At around 8:45 PM, after a hearty dinner and some cake, our group began saying our goodbyes and dispersing for the evening.  Only I wasn't going home.  In fact, my night was just beginning.  I was going to drive four hours to Lake Tahoe and run fifty kilometers straight through the night upon arrival.  No one except Sam knew what I was about to do until towards the end of dinner, when I spilled my guts and my plans for the night were out in the open.  We're all runners, but I have a reputation among this group of folks as being a guy who does some crazy shit.  Despite the persona that I maintain within this circle, I still got some surprised looks from my friends.  "Dude, you're going to drive all the way to Tahoe tonight?  Are you sure you don't want to just drive to Marin and do your training run there?"  This was coming from my buddy Arjun, who just completed his first fifty-miler a couple of weeks ago and crushed it.  Marin County is beautiful, and yes it's only an hour away, but it's not Tahoe.  Tahoe is a special place with so much personality.  But seriously, why would I drive somewhere four hours away to do an all night training run besides experiencing the majestic setting that Tahoe presents?  I like to look at it as a creative way of training.  The Canyons 100K was less than a month away, and it was time to push it to the max with regards to distance training.  An essential skill when running an ultramarathon is having the physical and psychological strength to keep moving forward even when you're dead tired.  And if you're like the majority of people, you're going to be tired while running an ultra, especially if it's your first one.  There's no way around it.  Driving four hours late into the night and running until dawn is very exhausting, to say the least.  It's these kinds of adventures that help train my body for the types of conditions I can expect during Canyons.  In order to maximize my chances of finishing the race, it's important for me to not only train to go the distance, but also push through the exhaustion and pain.  Sam and my friends wished me luck as I left the restaurant.  I walked down the street, jumped in my car, and off I drove into the night.

I arrived in Tahoe City at around 1:00 AM after a fairly uneventful drive.  The road was desolate and quiet as I pulled into town and I made my way to the place where I always park my car when I run in this area, a small parking lot behind a restaurant off Grove Street.  As I made the preparations for my nighttime journey that lay ahead, I realized I didn't feel tired, which was a good sign.  Still, I drank down a 5-hour Energy shot for good measure.  I was still dressed in my birthday dinner clothes from earlier in the evening.  Looking down at my attire, I thought about how cool it was that I have this "other" life that the majority of people in my life hear about, but very few have truly witnessed up close.  I looked like any normal guy you'd see in Palo Alto on a Saturday night having a dinner gathering with his fiancé and friends.  Any passerby that saw me out and about would probably have never guessed that after dinner that night I'd be driving four hours to Tahoe and running through the night.  If only they knew.  I struggled to change out of my jeans and button down shirt and into my running gear in the cramped space of the front seat of my car.  I figured it would be much easier if I just stepped out of the car and changed standing up.  It was the middle of the night and I was all alone out here, so why not?  Just as I was getting ready to pull the lever on the car door to let myself out, something caught my eye and I froze.  I wasn't alone after all.  There was movement in the parking lot, about a hundred feet away from my car.  "Holy shit, is that a bear?" I asked myself out loud.  It was.  He or she was just lumbering around in the parking lot minding their own business, but I quickly decided that it was probably a better idea to just change in the car.  Eventually I was ready to go, and the cold, crisp mountain air poured in when I opened my car door.  After surveying the scene to make sure that my new buddy wasn't lurking anywhere, I set my GPS watch, turned on my flashlight, and took off running down highway 28 towards the Nevada border.

The route that I was on, although labeled as a highway, was actually a two lane road with a bike lane that circumnavigated Lake Tahoe.  My plan was simple.  Run east on this road until I hit fifteen-and-a-half miles, then turn around and go back the way I came.  This journey would involve crossing over state lines on foot, which I thought was pretty dope.  Before long, the lights of Tahoe City's main strip faded behind me as I progressed into a darker, less populated area.  During the day this road was typically fairly busy, but at this hour of the night, automobile traffic was almost non-existent.  I wore a reflective vest, reflective ankle bracelets, I had a blinking red light attached to my pack, and I carried a bright flashlight.  I would be pretty hard to miss if anyone were to drive past me.  Most nights in Tahoe are cloudless with millions of shining stars up above, but tonight I ran under a mostly cloudy sky and the moon cast off very little light.  The temperature, however, was perfect.  About thirty-eight degrees Fahrenheit with low humidity levels.  Within the first few miles, hunger began to set in.  I had taken down a big plate of spaghetti with meat sauce and some cake during dinner, so how could I already be hungry, I wondered.  Then I realized that was six hours ago.  I carried a couple of Clif bars in my pack for emergency fuel, but I wasn't quite ready to tap into those yet.  The route that I was running had plenty of gas stations and 7-Eleven stores along the way for refueling, so I figured I'd be coming up on one soon.  Sure enough, just then, the lights of a 7-Eleven emerged up ahead.  Upon entering the store, I didn't see anyone except for the clerk, who was tending to the Slurpee machine.  I gave him a wave and a nod as I walked down the aisle, searching for something packed with calories and easy to digest.  I found exactly what I was looking for; S'more flavored Pop-Tarts.  They were loaded with sugar, had 370 calories per pack, were very delicious, and were priced very conveniently at 99 cents a pack.  After making the purchase, I unwrapped the Pop-Tarts, threw away the wrapper in the garbage can outside, and continued onward, eating as I ran.  I had the two Pop-Tarts stacked on top of each other and ate them like a sandwich with nothing in the middle.  This method of eating was working pretty well, however Lake Tahoe sits at 6,300 feet of elevation.  Running at high altitude is challenging enough, even when you're not stuffing your face with Pop-Tarts.  It was tough to catch my breath, so I chewed with my mouth wide open to allow a sufficient amount of oxygen to flow into my lungs.  Occasionally I would exhale too strongly and the force would send chunks of partially chewed Pop-Tarts flying out of my mouth and onto the road below me.  Even if it wasn't a perfect system, it did the trick and my hunger was eventually satisfied.  

On I ran, into the night, as the hours passed by.  When I wasn't listening to music, the only sounds to be heard were my feet hitting the ground and the occasional howling of coyotes in the distance.  During most of the run to the turnaround point, Lake Tahoe rested peacefully in the darkness to my right, except for a few stretches where the road diverted slightly inland, a few hundred yards from the water.  To my left lay dark woods, granite rock walls, cabins and houses, and the occasional meadow.  I passed through small outposts with closed up stores and offices decorated with colorful Christmas lights lining the road.  There was the occasional incline, which was followed immediately by a downhill.  A guy pulled up next to me in his car and offered me a ride.  When he noticed that I was in running gear and I told him what I was doing, he gave me kudos and drove off into the darkness.  Another car drove by a short while later and the occupants offered hoots and cheers as they passed.  It must have been a trip for these people to see some dude totally lit up, running along the side of the road at 3:30 in the morning.  I passed through Kings Beach, and eventually crossed over the Nevada state line.  The lights on the shoreline across the lake sparkled on the water as I admired the dark mountains on the distant horizon.  As I entered Incline Village, hunger set in again, along with exhaustion.  It was approaching 4:45 AM, and luck was on my side once again, as the gas station I was running past had just opened fifteen minutes prior.  I bought another pack of Pop-Tarts and a small cup of piping hot coffee to help with the exhaustion.  As I was about to leave Incline Village, I reached the turnaround point and began making my way back to Tahoe city.  The Pop-Tarts had really helped with the hunger and the coffee had carried me along pleasantly for a little while, but unfortunately the caffeine buzz was short lived.  I had gotten a decent night's sleep on Friday night, but on Saturday morning I ran eight miles in the morning and managed to get an hour long nap in before the birthday celebration.  By the time 6 AM rolled around, I had only gotten one hour of sleep in the last twenty-four hours.  On top of that, I had driven four hours, and was twenty miles into a thirty-mile training run.  As you could imagine, the exhaustion was quite overwhelming.  At one point, unbelievably, I found myself nodding off as I ran along the side of the road.  I was starting to feel miserable, but then I remembered this was exactly why I was doing this.  It was important to train my body and mind to keep moving forward even when I was dead tired.  That was what was going to get me across the finish line at Canyons, and the other two ultramarathons I had on my calendar over the next few months.  As tired as I was, I kept moving forward as best I could.

Shortly after crossing back into California, something beautiful happened.  Morning came.  The sky turned from black to dark blue, and the newly arrived dawn began slowly filling the distant mountains and the lake with vivid color.  Despite the skies being mostly cloudy, the first rays of sun eventually peaked over the snowy mountains.  And just like that, I was awake again.  After my journey through the night, the arrival of a new morning put some life back into me.  There was something very powerful about the experience, as is always the case when I run through the night.  I thought about Sam who was back in Silicon Valley, staying at a client's house, probably still sound asleep.  I thought about the cool life we had created and how excited I was that we were going to be parents in four months.  I was filled with emotion and the experience left me feeling loopy as I plodded along, reeling in the final miles.  Eventually I arrived back in Tahoe City, the distance totaled fifty kilometers, and I clapped my hands in celebration as I completed the run.  It was just after 8:00 AM on Sunday morning, and the main strip of Tahoe City, which was dead quiet when I departed at 1:30 AM, was now hopping with people out and about, going for their morning walks and getting something to eat.  After a brief recovery back at my car, I stumbled over to Rosie's Café.  The S'more flavored Pop-Tarts had done their job in getting me through the run, but now I wanted some real, hot food.  With a fresh plate and a hot cup of coffee, my appetite was satisfied.  It was a long rally to get home.  I barely made it to Truckee before I was so tired I had to pull over next to a snow bank in a parking lot and take a snooze.  Eventually I got back on the road, and made it home safely by early afternoon.  I enjoyed the experience so much, I almost immediately went to work on this blog post.  But because of things getting busy at work and life happening, here I am almost two weeks later finishing it up.  It was yet another amazing running experience that served as great training for the challenges that I'll be facing at Canyons in a couple of weeks.  Fingers crossed that the distance training will pay off.  We'll see how things go!  

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.