How To Not Hate Running

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

My Ten Answers To Ten Questions Runners Should Never Be Asked

Question: Did you win your race?

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

Question: Are you fast?

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

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

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

Question: Are you still into that running thing?

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

Question: How was your fifty-mile marathon?

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

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

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

Question: Is it safe to run at your age?

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

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

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

Question: Are you going to do the Barkley Marathons?

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

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

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

Single Day Adventures

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 2024 Kodiak 100-miler and A DNF Deep Dive

When I paced my friend Jose at the Kodiak 100-mile ultramarathon in October 2023, it was a fun and fulfilling experience.  I got to take a nice long road trip to Big Bear Lake, hang out with my friends in the mountains, help someone achieve their goal of completing their first 100-miler, and have my own ultramarathon experience by traversing thirty-three miles through the wilderness.  Another exciting part of the experience was Angelica, a member of Jose's support crew, told me she was signing up for Kodiak in 2024 as her first 100-miler, and wanted me to pace her.  It seemed like an exciting opportunity and I said yes right away.  We kept in touch, and by the time the 2024 Kodiak 100-miler rolled around, Samantha, Aidan, and I had moved to Laguna Niguel about a month prior.  I had been talking a lot with Angelica earlier that week about the upcoming adventure.  I met her crew members, and we talked a lot about where we would meet up, what time we would get together at the aid stations, and what we would have ready for Angelica in terms of food and supplies.  You know, all the fun stuff that comes with helping someone get through their first 100-miler.

I was awake at 3:00 AM on Saturday morning, October 12th 2024, staring into my bathroom mirror, half asleep, preparing to head out to Big Bear Lake.  By 3:45 AM, I was out the door with a backpack on my shoulder, running shoes in one hand, and a steaming hot cup of coffee in the other.  Big Bear Lake was still a two-and-a-half hour drive away, but it was much shorter than the seven hours I drove last year from Sunnyvale.  Angelica's journey had started at 1:00 PM the day before, and her crew members, Carmen, Nancy, and Randy had arrived with her in Big Bear that day.  The plan was for me to meet up with them at the Doble Camp aid station at mile sixty-five.  Angelica was projected to arrive there at around 7:30 AM, but with 100-milers, you never know.  Things can change quickly.  I was hoping to get there well in advance of when she arrived so I would have some time to lounge around.  As I drove along the dark highway, I was refreshing the tracker on my phone to check her progress.  It indicated that she had been at the aid station at mile forty-five for several hours, which was a little concerning, but I kept driving, hoping she was hanging in there okay.  I had just started driving up the winding road into the mountains when a text from the group chat with her crew popped up on my phone.  Carmen had confirmed that Angelica dropped out at mile forty-five.  Apparently, she had been having stomach issues throughout the night and couldn't consume any food without feeling overwhelmingly nauseous.  This happens sometimes during ultramarathons.  When our bodies are in motion for extended periods of time, and our system is overworked, all of our energy goes into keeping us moving, even energy that is normally used to digest food.  If runners in this state eat a certain food that doesn't agree with them or their eating patterns go astray, this could result in an upset stomach and low energy levels from lack of fuel.  Then on top of that, the Kodiak 100-miler course is at an average elevation of 8,000 feet.  Elevation sickness has also been known to cause nausea in addition to headaches.  In Angelica's case, she had left the aid station at mile forty-five, thrown up on the trail twice, and made the decision to backtrack two miles to the aid station, where she spent some time in the medic tent, and later dropped out.  

It was a bummer and I really felt bad for her.  She had been training for this race all year and she was really hoping to go home with a finisher's belt buckle.  The crew and I were exchanging texts with her and offering words of encouragement.  I wouldn't be able to work my pacer magic today, but I was looking forward to getting up to the mountains to see the gang and hopefully help Angelica feel better about the situation.  Once I arrived, the whole team, Angelica, Randy, Nancy, Carmen and I, went to Grizzly Manor and satisfied our appetites with pancakes the size of dinner plates, something Grizzly Manor is widely known for.  After breakfast we hung around the condo that Angelica rented for the weekend and had a good conversation.  We let Angelica voice her frustration and disappointment, offered her encouragement, and congratulated her on her effort.  She had been been awake for over thirty hours and had ran through the night, so when she was ready to take a mid-morning nap, I bade the team farewell, and headed back home.

In retrospect, I think Angelica made the right move when she decided to hike the two miles back to the medic tent.  Considering it was her first 100-mile attempt, and given how awful she was feeling, the alternative could have been much worse if she chose to keep going.  Sometimes we just have to listen to our bodies.  As time went on, Angelica came to terms with her DNF and developed a more positive sentiment towards what happened that day.  This was good news, but one of the reasons why I felt so badly for her was because I too had been through two similar situations this year with The Canyons 100K and the Cool Moon 50-miler.  I know how much it stings.  DNF stands for Did Not Finish.  No runner ever wants to see those letters next to their name in the race results.  Between my two DNFs and my involvement with Angelica's DNF, 2024 was seemingly becoming the year of DNFs in my reality.  That's not entirely negative though.  Of course it sucks to not finish a race, but there is a silver lining to DNFing an ultramarathon.  It can provide some valuable learning opportunities.  Just like every other type of failure in life, most people go through a whole grieving process when they don't finish an ultramarathon.  Here are the phases, as I see them.

The first phase is the disappointment and "woulda, coulda, shoulda" phase.  This is when the runner is disappointed in themselves or the situation, and they're asking themselves "what would have happened if I had done this or that differently?" or they're saying to themselves "I could have kept going" or "I should have done this or that" or "I should have kept going".  The next phase is typically the "I did what I could, and I'm okay with what happened" phase.  This comes after the runner releases their frustration and disappointment and is coming to terms with the situation and making peace with it.  It doesn't make sense for us to needlessly beat ourselves up for not being able to finish a race that seems unfathomable to most people.  At some point, we have to accept the outcome, understand that things happen for a reason, and try to understand what went wrong and what we learned from the mishap.  The last phase is the "okay, I'm ready to get out there and try again" phase.  Pretty self explanatory.  At this point, the runner has made peace with the DNF, hopefully learned some valuable lessons, and is ready to give it another go.  All three of the DNF grieving phases are equally important.  In my opinion, it's good to release frustration and disappointment when I DNF a race, or fail at anything in life, for that matter.  Keeping those feelings bottled up is unhealthy.  If that negative energy isn't properly released, it lingers for longer periods of time and delays us from moving on to the acceptance and let's try again phases.  It's also important to learn from our mistakes, and not give up on our goals.  2024 may have been the year of DNFs for me, but I'm thankful for what I've gone through.  Everyone grieves over these kinds of things differently, but this is the way I feel is best to do it.  Onward and upward into 2025, and let's see what kind of adventures it brings!

The "Moving to Laguna Niguel" Ultramarathon

A couple of weeks ago I shared a picture on social media of the view from our new home.  Samantha, Aidan, and I recently moved from Sunnyvale to Laguna Niguel, a city in southern Orange County not too far from the beach.  In addition to being a charming, suburban city with cool people and lots of places to eat, Laguna Niguel is topographically composed of several hills and canyons, which add to the beautiful ambiance.  We live right at the top of one of these hills, which offers stunning views of the neighborhood from the edge of our group of townhouses.  One of our friends from the Bay Area commented on the photo asking how the move went.  I'll get into the story of how it went in a minute, but I replied that it went pretty smoothly.  Little did I know that in the upcoming week, that simple reply would spark a light hearted Facebook debate between me, Samantha, and our friend about what it truly means to have a move go "smoothly".

Before I get into the move, let's take a step back.  This move has been talked about and was in the works for quite some time.  Even though Samantha and I met in Mountain View, both of us knew that we didn't want to make Silicon Valley our permanent home.  When she became pregnant with our son, Aidan, those feelings became more pronounced.  Living in Sunnyvale had served its purpose in both of our lives, and we were ready for something more long term.  Now that we had a kid on the way, we had a strong desire to move somewhere more quiet, more suburban, and more family oriented.  Samantha spent some of her childhood in Los Angeles, but mostly grew up in Irvine.  Her parents still live in the area, and I love Southern California, so Orange County seemed like a natural choice in terms of where to move.  We originally intended to move in May of 2023, but as the months carried on, it became apparent that we weren't ready to move just yet.  After a few lengthy discussions, we decided to renew our lease in Sunnyvale until September of 2024 so we had more time to coordinate the move.  Samantha and I did some searching with my in laws, and with their help, we found a charming, two story townhouse in a quiet neighborhood of Laguna Niguel.  Once we had our new living situation nailed down, we had a couple of months to enjoy Silicon Valley before the move.  There would be a lot of things that we would miss about the Bay Area, but we knew this move was right for us.  

As the summer carried on, moving week was approaching quickly.  In early August, Samantha and I were discussing the move and how we wanted to go about it.  We had some options, and we narrowed it down to two potential plans.  The first one was to hire movers to load up our belongings, drive them down to Laguna Niguel, and unpack them at our new house.  The second option was to rent a U-Haul truck, load it up on our own, drive it down to Orange County, and unload it ourselves.  Sure, the first option would have been convenient, but anyone who knows me well is probably not all that surprised that I was pushing for the second option.  Why you might ask?  Well, hiring movers is pretty expensive, but the price wasn't a total deal breaker.  In most cases, you get what you pay for, but I wondered if we could save money by executing this move in a more do-it-yourself fashion.  Another thing that was pulling me in that direction was my ultrarunner mindset.  I'm used to long periods of endurance.  I know what it's like to struggle in the moment, mentally and physically, and experience the satisfaction and reward of putting my body and mind through hell.  I thoroughly contemplated the two options, and after crunching the numbers, option two was a no brainer from a cost perspective.  Yes, it would be more work, and I would be physically exhausted.  But I like saving money, and I like challenges.  Samantha was skeptical of my plan.  "How are we going to get the U-Haul truck loaded up? she asked. "I'll load it up on my own".  I replied.  "I think the best plan is for you and Aidan to drive down to Orange County a day early so I can get the truck loaded up without any distractions.  Then I'll drive the truck down on my own, and I'll meet you guys at the townhouse on Tuesday".  "How are you going to load up all our stuff by yourself, then drive the truck all the way down there on your own? That's crazy".  It was a valid question and her concerns were justified.  I had never moved with a two-year-old before, so I was navigating this for the first time the best way I knew how.  I just stood up beside her, put my arm around her shoulder, looked at her with a big smile, and said "did you forget you're married to an ultrarunner?"  She knew what that meant.  

After some convincing and assuring Samantha that I had this in the bag, she reluctantly agreed to the plan.  But the truth was I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing.  Sure, I had moved a few times, but I had never moved four-hundred miles with a toddler before.  This was going to be a new experience, just like all of the times when I ran a new distance in ultrarunning for the first time.  I didn't quite know what to expect, or how it was going to go, but I was up for the challenge.  Some people might ask the question of why I insisted on loading up the moving truck and driving down to Orange County on my own as opposed to having some friends help me.  There's a logical explanation for that.  My take on these types of situations is I love teamwork and collaboration.  But if I'm in charge of the project, I feel much more comfortable working with a team if it's a project that I know well and have done before.  If I know all the steps and I can tell people exactly what I need done and when I need it done, and they can rely on me to give good, solid guidance, then I'm one-hundred percent onboard.  But if it's something I've never done before and I don't really know what I'm getting myself into, and there's a lot that can go wrong, that creates a sense of uncertainty.  And when there's uncertainty, I'm reluctant to get other people involved, and I would rather just do the job on my own, even if it's a lot of work.  I don't want to let other people down or waste their time if things go wrong.  Something can probably be done about that, but that was my mindset.

Before we knew it, moving day was upon us.  By this point, we had several boxes packed up, and we had "dejunkified" our apartment quite a bit, including ditching some old furniture.  My Sunday morning started off at the U-Haul center in Mountain View to pick up the truck.  Judging by the dimensions, I thought a twenty foot long by eleven foot tall truck would be suitable for our belongings.  It wasn't until I hopped into the driver's seat that I realized how different driving a twenty foot long U-Haul truck would be compared to my Rav4.  I drove painfully slowly out of the parking lot and down the highway back to our apartment, trying to be careful.  Every turn needed to be executed widely and I needed to take a couple of extra seconds looking in the side mirrors when changing lanes.  When I arrived home with the truck, Samantha was packing up everything her and Aidan would need for the next couple of days.  The plan was for the two of them to drive down and stay at a hotel in Laguna Hills, not far from our new place for the next couple of nights while I loaded up the truck and drove down to Orange County.  Once they were all packed up, they hit the road, and it was time to start moving stuff.  There are a lot of things I liked about our apartment building, but moving out of there was tough.  Our unit was located at the very end of the hallway, as far away from the elevator as it could possibly get.  Additionally, there was a secure door that I had to go through in the lobby of the leasing office, and the truck couldn't be parked right outside by the door because it was too big to pull into the parking garage.  I spent the next ten hours loading our belongings up on to a dolly, making numerous trips down the hall, down the elevator, out the lobby door, and to the moving truck.  I drank lots of water, took a lunch break, and ate lots of snacks to keep myself moving.  By 11:00 PM, I called it quits for the day.  I was about halfway done loading up our stuff, but I began to worry about what could potentially go wrong from a logistical standpoint.  I was concerned about leaving the moving truck in the parking area outside overnight, mainly because the staff at our building told me that I'd be violating their policies by leaving it there.  Additionally, I worried if the truck had enough space to move all our stuff.  It seemed like space was getting tight in there, and I thought about how much of a disaster it would be if the truck were towed or if I had to unload everything, return the truck, and get a bigger one.  Samantha and Aidan made it down to Laguna Hills safely, but it was a long and treacherous rally to get there.  Aidan is normally a great traveler, but it's a different ball game when only one of us is in the car with him.  Samantha had to stop a couple of times to let him unwind and be out of the car, which normally would be fine, except it was over one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit outside.  At one point, she was driving down a remote stretch of the 5 freeway through Kern County when she spotted a California Highway Patrol vehicle on the shoulder.  She pumped the breaks, but it was too late.  He pulled her over and wrote her a speeding ticket while Aidan cried his little butt off.  Not fun.

Even though it was a tough, eight hour drive, I was glad they arrived safely.  Apparently Aidan fell asleep right after Samantha received her lovely present from the California Highway Patrol, and slept for next three hours until they arrived at the hotel.  Shortly after I spoke with her on the phone, I decided to move the truck to a parking area outside the leasing office and out of the fire lane.  Once I went back upstairs, I threw together a quick dinner with some random food we still had in our freezer.  Our bed was already in pieces in the truck, so I plopped down onto our two-person love seat and laid down to get some sleep.  The first thing I did when I woke up at 6 AM the next morning was I went downstairs to check on the truck.  I was relieved to see that it was still right where I left it.  As the day went on, and as the truck became more full and our apartment became more empty, my anxiety gradually decreased.  I realized that everything was going to fit into the truck just fine as long as I packed it properly.  As I was getting towards the end of packing, the realization that we were leaving began to hit me.  I thought about the last five-and-a-half years that I spent living in the Bay Area and how much had happened since then.  It was a different era than it was five years ago.  Things had certainly come a long way.  I would always cherish the years I spent living in Sunnyvale and the good things that came with them.  The fact that I was saying goodbye and starting a new chapter felt like a wall of emotion, but it was mostly happy thoughts.  By 10:00 PM on Monday night, the truck was loaded up, the apartment was cleaned out, the keys were left on the kitchen counter, and I was ready to go.  I was feeling confident that the move was going according to plan, but I still had one more big hurdle to clear:  Getting the truck full of our belongings down to Laguna Niguel.  It was going to be a long haul.  A straight drive without stops and no traffic is a little over six hours, but there was no way I was going to make it down there that quickly.  It was late at night, and I was going to need to stop and sleep for a least a few hours.  Late at night in the dark is when things usually start to get interesting during ultramarathons.  The same could definitely be said for driving from Silicon Valley to Orange County.

As I drove down highway 101 I felt a strange combination of emotions.  I felt at ease because the truck was all loaded up, we were out of our apartment, and I was on my way down to our new home.  But I also felt anxious because I was driving a massive moving truck that contained virtually everything that me, Samantha, and Aidan owned.  One careless move, and that could all be gone in an instant.  Not only that, but one wrong move could also total another car on the road if I didn't see them in the mirror when I changed lanes.  There was no rearview mirror, so I relied solely on the large outside mirrors to see other cars on the road behind me.  I wasn't used to driving such as massive vehicle on the highway and I found it to be a little intimidating.  There was a lot that could go wrong.  I tried to just relax, not think too much about it, and enjoy the drive.  When making the drive from Silicon Valley to Orange County, the route that I travel is along highway 101 to highway 152, which crosses over Panoche Pass, and deposits me onto the 5 freeway.  I've made the drive so many times, it's almost like second nature at this point.  The first town that appears along the route on highway 5 is the town of Panoche.  When I arrived there, it was just past midnight, so it seemed like a good opportunity to pull over and get some rest.  As I exited the freeway, I piloted the U-Haul down a remote backstreet past some fast food restaurants and gas stations, and parked on the roadside.  Outside, there were gas stations on either side of the street from me and one in front of me.  Beyond the gas station parking lots were darkness and miles of open fields and farmland.  Over the last several hours, I had been fueled by trail mix and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, so I was pretty hungry.  All the restaurants were closed for the night, so I headed into the gas station and bought a couple of Lunchable packages.  They weren't hot meals, but salami, cheese, and crackers were better than more trail mix and PB&J.  

I managed to get about three-and-a-half hours of sleep in the driver's seat of the truck.  When I woke up, my back felt stiff, but I felt slightly more coherent.  By this time, it was around 4:00 AM on Tuesday morning.  When I stepped out of the truck to stretch, the area was dead quiet, except for the occasional semi truck pulling into a nearby parking lot.  Even though the establishment was dimly lit, I could see that the gas station I visited earlier was still open, so I headed back in to use the restroom.  I exited with a piping hot cup of coffee, and felt ready to hit the road once again.  I was almost certain that I would hit the morning commute traffic in the Los Angeles area, so I figured I'd better get moving.  The road was pretty empty as I continued making my way south on the 5 freeway.  As time went on, and the coffee kicked in, I felt more comfortable driving the truck, and at times it felt like driving a car.  Within a couple of hours, the early dawn began lighting up the eastern skyline, and the morning was upon me.  It reminded me a lot of running through the night, then watching the sun come up in the morning after hours of darkness.  There was something very powerful and exciting about the arrival of a new day, and I felt a sense of optimism and renewed energy.  I was cruising along pleasantly and enjoying the ride, until I hit some traffic going through the Grapevine, a long stretch of freeway that passes through the mountains and connects the Central Valley to the Los Angeles area.  I was happy that I was only within a couple of hours of Laguna Niguel, but as the traffic cleared near Six Flags, I began feeling drowsy again.  Not wanting to take any chances, I decided to pull over again for another nap.  After about an hour of snoozing in the driver's seat and another coffee purchase, I was back on the road again at around 9:00 AM making my way through highway traffic in the San Fernando Valley.  This trip was starting to feel quite grueling.  Eleven hours had passed since I left Sunnyvale the night before, and I was now in the final stretch of the journey.  I was about seventy miles from my destination, but it seemed to be taking forever.  I guess it wouldn't be Los Angeles if there wasn't a shit load of traffic as far as the eye could see.  I love LA and I tolerated the traffic when I lived there, but at this particular moment it was driving me bananas.  I guess that's what will happen after eleven hours on the road with only a few hours sleep in a moving truck.

When I finally pulled into our townhouse complex in Laguna Niguel shortly after 11:00 AM, I clapped my hands in celebration.  Even though I hadn't done any running, and the only steps I took over the last thirteen hours were to and from gas station convenience stores, I felt like I had just crossed the finish line of an ultramarathon.  I was hungry, sleep deprived, and dirty, but it felt like a big accomplishment. I wanted to celebrate the fact that I had made it through this trek in one piece.  That celebration was just me in the cab of the truck alone clapping my hands and saying "holy shit, I made it", but that was all I needed.  It felt like a nice way to make up for those two ultramarathons that I DNF'ed earlier this year.  Even though I insisted on loading the truck up myself, I welcomed the help when my father in law and Samantha offered to help unload the truck.  With their help, we unloaded our belongings faster than I thought we would, and returned the truck that night.  It had been an incredibly eventful and productive couple of days of moving, but I don't even remember going to sleep that night.  I think I passed out within thirty seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

Now that we've been here for a little over three weeks, and we're pretty well settled in, I've had time to reflect on the move and write this blog post.  Did this move actually go smoothly?  I guess the answer depends on people's interpretation of the story.  Even though Samantha and Aidan arrived safely, she felt horribly for most of the day on Monday due to dehydration and heat exhaustion.  Orange County was experiencing a crazy heat wave that week, and it took some time for Samantha to feel better.  But I was glad we all made it safely, there were no vehicle breakdowns, no car accidents, etc.  It was definitely the most memorable move I've had yet.  I wish I could have been there for Samantha when she was struggling, but she pulled through.  We're planning to stay in southern Orange County long term as Aidan grows up and makes his way through school.  When we move again, it will likely only be within a few miles of where we are now.  But we have a good set up here, so we're not planning to move for a while, which is a pleasant thought.  I'm just excited to be here and continue this next chapter of our lives, so let's see what's next!    

Same Race, Different Experience

The start and finish area

Over the last several years, I've participated in a variety of races of varying length, size, and setting.  I've never done a race that I haven't enjoyed, however, some of them were one and done type deals.  In most cases, I've done races where I've returned in subsequent years because I enjoyed the experience.  In those instances, even though the races are often nearly identical to the first time I ran, the experience was always different.  Multiple factors have an impact on the race experience, including weather, the personalities of the other runners, and my state of mind.  For example, I could run a race where it's cold and pouring rain the whole time, then go back the following year, and have a completely different experience if it's sunny and warm.  Similarly, I could have a certain experience at race if I were going through a personal hardship, like a recent death in the family, versus the experience I would have if I had recently gotten a promotion at work.  Even if the race and the course are the same, no two race journeys are completely alike.

My experience running the Great Shasta Rail Trail race in McCloud this year versus last year is a prominent example.  The most significant difference was the weather.  Last year when I crossed the finish line of the 50K race shortly after 2:00 PM, the temperature was 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  Psychologically, I felt great not only because I finished, but because I confronted my demons.  I don't do well with running in heat, and I was overjoyed that I was able to persevere and push through the pain and discomfort.  Although I was happy, I was a train wreck.  I was overheated, dehydrated, and my legs were tying themselves in knots.  Somehow I was able to make the five-hour drive back home without my legs cramping.  The recovery was brief, however, and I was soon back to my normal self.  I wanted to come back and run again this year because I had such a great time.  I enjoyed the camaraderie of the runners, the race staff, and the volunteers, and the course was beautiful.  Since I was having a tough running season, and had finished a 50K less than a month prior to the 2024 race, I opted to run the 30K this year instead.  

I arrived in the town of Mount Shasta around 10:00 PM on Friday, the night before the race.  The drive up was relatively uneventful.  I enjoyed the views while my car stereo pumped an eclectic mix of punk rock and hip hop.  Once I arrived in town, I headed into Handsome John's Speakeasy, a local bar.  I never thought that I would walk into a bar in Mount Shasta and see the walls decked out with Detroit Red Wings, Tigers, Lions, and University of Michigan memorabilia.  I found out from the bartender that the owner of the bar was a Michigan guy from my college town, who hitch hiked all the way to Mount Shasta in the early 2000's.  What a small world.  I had a fun time chatting with some of the locals over a couple of beers, but it was starting to get pretty late.  I had to wake up in five hours to run eighteen and a half miles, so I'd better get a move on.  In 2023, I crashed in the back of my car in the town of McCloud, near a gas station so I could have coffee in the morning before the race.  This year I decided to try something different.  I was going to sleep in my car at the race start and finish line in the remote wilderness.  I packed my Jet Boil camping stove to heat up some coffee that I already brewed at home, so I could have some hot coffee in the morning before the race started.  The remote road was dark and lined with tall pine trees as I drove through McCloud to the race start area.  It was pitch black outside when I arrived.  I was surprised to see that there were other cars who had set up camp in the area.  For some reason, I didn't expect that.  I was bumping Amy Winehouse's "Frank" album during the drive from the bar, and her song "Brother" was playing when I pulled up.  It was knocking my bass speakers in pretty good, so I turned down the music as soon as I noticed the other cars.  It was well after midnight, and I didn't want the bass from my car to disturb the others.  In Silicon Valley it wouldn't be a big deal, but it was dead quiet out here in the wild.   The trailhead had a small parking area off the side of the road, so I parked behind a small RV.  I tried my best to stay as quiet as I could as I prepared for bed.  I folded down the backseats, rolled out my sleeping pad and sleeping bag, crawled inside, and promptly passed out.    

The beer I had at Handsome John's Speakeasy, along with the cool night time temperature and the tranquility of the wilderness pulled me into a deep sleep.  When my rooster alarm on my phone sounded at 5:00 AM, I was ready to run.  I opened the back hatch of my Rav4, stepped out, and breathed in the crisp, refreshing air.  It was still dark outside, and the sky was slightly overcast.  The temperature was chilly, probably in the high 40's, which felt perfect.  As I continued to get ready, I looked over towards the race start area, which was about fifty feet away.  The other runners who had camped in the area were also outside of their cars getting ready and heading towards the start.  The race staff had set up a table with a couple of lanterns for the packet pickup just off the side of the road.  Just as I started to make my way over, I saw several runners gather around the start line, and Jen, the race director, began speaking from a megaphone.  The group of 50K and 30K runners looked to be about the same size as last year and we listened as Jen explained the course and where the turnaround points were.  I greeted her after the announcement and asked "we have about thirty more minutes until race start, right?"  It was just after 5:30 AM, and my understanding was the race started at 6:00 AM, just like last year.  "Nope, we're actually going right now".  With that, Kristy, one of the volunteers, counted down from ten, sounded a bugle, and the group took off.  I realized in that moment that I never actually confirmed what time the race start was, and I relied solely on my memory from last year that we started at 6:00 AM.  I was still clad in a fleece jacket and sandals, and I hadn't even gotten my bib yet.  I felt silly for making such a rookie mistake, but Jen was super cool about it, and allowed me a few extra minutes to get my bib and finish getting ready.  Being a race director is not an easy job, and it's cool when they allow you to start late.  My start time wasn't too delayed, only about ten minutes, and I took off from the start line at around 5:43 AM.  

Mile 5-ish, on the way to the first aid station

The trail was composed mostly of loose dirt and crushed stones, which made for a very gentle surface.  It still posed more of a challenge than running on pavement, but it was much less taxing on my legs.  The race was held on a stretch of rail trail that connected the town of Burney to McCloud, and averaged about six to eight feet wide.  This was an out and back style course, so the width of the trail provided ample room for runners coming the opposite way.  The reddish brown path stretched out in front of me for miles, and tall pine trees lined the trail for as far as the eye could see.  I plodded along the terrain alone, enjoying the fresh air and marvelous setting.  I feel like this is the part of California that often gets overlooked.  Yes, there are beautiful beaches, lots of palm trees, and nice real estate, but this region of the north central part of the state is definitely a hidden gem.  It was some of the most stunning alpine forest scenery I had ever seen.  Although I has having a nice time, I didn't have a chance to heat up the coffee I brewed at home before the race start.  I'm used to having coffee before I run, so I was feeling a little tired, but I just needed to get warmed up.  As I progressed further, my energy levels began to pick up, especially when I caught up to some other runners and chatted with them.  The 10K runners were only following the last section of the course in the opposite direction, so at this moment, only the 50K and 30K runners were on the trail.  We were a pretty small group of about thirty, which provided a more personable setting than most of the other races I had done in the past.  Before too long, I reached the 10K mark of the race, and the first aid station appeared as I approached an intersection with the rail trail and a desolate dirt road.  This was the turnaround point for the 30K race, so I filled my water bottle, thanked the volunteers, and headed back towards the start line.  I continued running on my own, enjoying the majestic surroundings.  Occasionally I'd pass by another runner in front of me or heading the opposite way to the turnaround, but other than that, it was just me and the quiet wilderness.  

As time passed and miles were covered, I eventually arrived at the 20K mark back at the start line.  Next, I would continue in the opposite direction for just over three miles, turn around at the aid station where Kristy was working, then head back to the finish line to complete the 30K distance.  I passed on eating any food since I wasn't that hungry yet, but I was excited for the post race meal that the staff and volunteers were cooking and the packet pick up table.  I stopped by my car, applied some more Squirrel's Nut Butter lube, and continued onward.  One thing I remembered from last year during this section heading out to Kristy's aid station was the trail was going to begin a gradual uphill climb after about a mile and a half.  Once I reached this section, I decided to walk for about a quarter of a mile.  I was feeling good and wanted to keep it that way, so I thought it was a good idea to not burn myself out.  There were some high clouds in the sky earlier in the morning, but they burned off, and now there was some sunshine on the trail, which was nice. When I arrived at the aid station at the top of the incline I could feel a slight headache coming on, but luckily, the volunteers were able to hook me up with some Tylenol.  I felt better during the final three-mile push, and I clapped my hands in celebration as I crossed the finish line.  The small crowd clapped for me, and Jen's young daughter ran up to me and gave me my finisher's award, which was a customized race branded tree stump.  I went back to my car to freshen up a little bit, then brought my camping chair, my Jet Boil, and thermos of coffee over to the finish line area to hang with the crowd and cheer on more finishers.  Even if it was after the race, that hot coffee really hit the spot.  It blended perfectly with the post race meal of beans, shredded chicken, tortilla chips, and salsa.  

I hung around for another couple of hours chatting with the race staff, cheering on runners, cooking beans, and enjoying the beautiful setting.  Even though the race and course were identical to last year, I thought about how different my experience was.  It was thirty-five degrees cooler outside than last year when I finished.  Granted it was still fairly early in the morning and the temperature was supposed to warm up to the low eighties in the afternoon, but there moments when I almost wanted to put my fleece jacket back on, as opposed to last year when I felt like my organs were going to melt.  Also, unlike last year, there were more clouds in the sky in the morning, and the sun didn't come out until around 9:00 AM, which was actually pretty pleasant.  We were also dealing with the effects of the Park Fire, which had ignited near Chico on Wednesday and was rapidly spreading.  As the afternoon arrived, the horizon was becoming hazy and the air quality was slowly deteriorating.  Last year's fire season was lighter than 2024 has already been, and I silently thanked all of the fire fighters and all the crews who were working to contain the fire.  Additionally, Aidan is a whole year older this year.  During last year's event, he wasn't even walking yet.  Now he's running around, climbing on everything he can, and he's quite the social butterfly.  It's also a slightly different era at work for me with more responsibilities, and changes in the line up of our team.    Even though things in my life have progressed from July of 2023, It was comforting that I could come back and still run the same race with a great staff, great volunteers, and a beautiful trail.  The cooler weather was definitely a bonus as well!

Cooking beans for runners at the finish line

  

I closed out this mini solo running trip with a quick visit to Burney Falls and a lunch of onion rings, a hamburger, and chocolate shake at Floyd's Frosty in McCloud.  I had an awesome and memorable time, but I was excited to get back home.  I'm not only a runner, but I'm also a dad and a husband, and I was eager to get back to be with Samantha and Aidan and tell them about my adventure.

Burney Falls on the way home

A Little Cool Moon With Some Golden State

Anyone who has run a long distance race knows what it feels like to struggle.  Running long distances is hard and it's taxing on the body.  We've all seen those people at races who are really having a tough go at it, but they keep moving forward.  No one wants to ever be in that position, but we always try to offer psychological support when we see someone who is deep inside the pain cave.  That was me at the Cool Moon Trail 50-Miler in Cool, California on June 1st, 2024.  I was the guy who was hurting badly.  The guy who everyone was concerned about.  The guy who everyone saw and said "wow, are you okay?".  I was the guy who needed the psychological support.  No one wanted to be in the position that I was in, but everyone felt sorry for me.  After dropping out of the Canyons 100K at mile forty-eight in late April, I signed up for Cool Moon hoping to redeem myself.  The logic was the fact that I was able to cover forty-eight miles in about fifteen hours on the challenging terrain of the Canyons course.  There was no way my body could have taken me another fourteen miles, but I could have gutted out another two miles if it were a 50-miler.  It would have been painfully slow, but I believed I could have pulled it off.  The Cool Moon Trail 50-Miler had far less elevation gain than Canyons, and it had a thirty-five hour cutoff, which was incredibly generous.  It would be difficult and painful, but I figured I could cross the finish line.  I would have plenty of time.  Well, not only did I not cross the finish line, but my performance at Cool Moon marks the most epic failure I've experienced at a race up until this point.  

My Cool Moon journey started off on Friday evening, the night before the race.  I loaded my car up with my running gear, a pillow, a sleeping bag, a sleeping pad, and other provisions, and hit the road.  The plan was to drive to Cool and find a place to camp out in the back of my car near the race start line.  I cruised along highway 80 through Sacramento, took the highway 49 exit in Auburn, and followed the winding, pitch black country road for several miles until I arrived in Cool.  Everything was closed down for the night when I arrived, and I didn't see a single car or person.  The race start and finish line was right next to the El Dorado County Fire Station located off of highway 49.  I parked in a nearby parking lot and shut off my car.  When I stepped out to stretch, it was dead quiet, except for the sound of a dog barking at a house out in the distance.  Even though they were closed, the nearby shops and restaurants were lit up, but beyond that it was darkness.  The lack of city lights helped mitigate the light pollution, and the sky was filled with shining stars.   I brushed my teeth, rolled out my sleeping bag in the back seat, wiggled into it, and closed my eyes, hoping for the best in tomorrow's race.  When I woke up at 5:45 AM the next morning, I got some coffee at a nearby gas station, made my preparations, and headed for the start of the race, which was less than a tenth of a mile away.  I greeted the volunteers, picked up my race bib, and mingled with other runners at the start line.  It was a smaller, more personable race, with around three hundred people, which was a nice contrast to Canyons.  At 7:00 AM we lined up near the start line, the race director gave some pre-race announcements, and we were off.  

Things started out pretty good.  I had a good cadence going, and since it was supposed to be a warm day, I was drinking a lot and taking plenty of electrolyte tablets.  Or so I thought.  The course consisted of two twenty-five mile loops.  The terrain was pretty to look at, and even though some of the climbs were challenging, a lot of the course was pretty runnable.  I also chatted with some pretty cool people, including a sixty-four year old runner originally from New Zealand.  He complimented me on my form and consistency, which I appreciated.  I was enjoying myself.  I finished the first loop in five-and-a-half hours, and decided to sit down at the halfway point and take a little rest.  It felt nice to be off my feet, but I was feeling pretty good, and wanted to keep the momentum going.  Things didn't go well in the second half.  The temperature was rising, the afternoon California sun baked the exposed course, and the lack of training was catching up with me, just like at Canyons.  After an arduously slow and painfully steep climb up K2, my legs seized up.  I was able to sooth them and keep going for a little longer, but at around the thirty-two mile mark, they seized up again.  This time it was so bad that the cramping essentially forced me to collapse onto the grass along the trailside.  I laid there in agony as my legs throbbed and tied themselves in knots.  A runner came by and offered me some pickle juice.  I drank it down, but the intense cramping still persisted.  The next thing I knew, I was laying on my side, puking up everything I had consumed that day.  I was glad no one was around to see that.  By this point, the pack had become pretty spread out along the course, so I wasn't encountering as many runners as I had on the first loop.  I laid down in the grass next to a puddle of my own vomit for the next hour, unable to move.  Luckily, it was in a shady spot, so I wasn't being cooked in the sun.  About a half a dozen runners came by during that time.  I can only imagine what they were thinking when they saw me laying in the grass like a body that had just been dumped from a car trunk.  They all asked me if I was okay and if I needed anything.  Even though I was in so much pain I could hardly move, I told them I was okay and I was just taking a rest.  I don't think there was much they could have done for me.

Eventually, I was able to pick myself up, and I made it another two miles up the switchbacks to a junction where the trail intersected with a back country road.  I had absolutely nothing left when I arrived there.  At the intersection, there was a card table with a water keg propped up on it, and a cooler full of ice next to the table.  I collapsed onto the cooler and sat there for a few minutes until another runner approached.  "I hate to do this, but can I get some ice out of there?" she asked.  I smiled and tried to get up, but instead I just keeled over and crumbled onto the ground.  I was a hot mess.  I couldn't hide it anymore.  Even if I had thirty-five hours, there was no way in hell I was finishing this race.  At that moment, I didn't even have the strength to stand back up, let alone cover another sixteen miles.  The runner who asked me to get off the cooler could sense my despair.  After a couple of moments of silence, she spoke.  "Hey, I'm going to push to the next aid station.  Do you want me to send a volunteer down here to pick you up?" It was a demoralizing situation, but I said "yes" without hesitation.  I thanked her, and she pressed onward.  When the volunteer arrived and picked me up, she was sympathetic and encouraging.  "Are you the guy who was taking a nap in the grass on the side of the trail?" she asked.  I couldn't help but laugh.  "yep, that was me" I said.  "Ah, okay.  Yeah, a few runners came through and told us about you.  They said you looked terrible and that we should come and find you.  I'm amazed that you were able to make it up to this point".  I hated being the guy who looked terrible and everyone was worried about, but sometimes it's okay to be that guy and show some vulnerability.  It's been a lifelong struggle for me to accept that, and I still struggle with it even now.  But I'm better at showing vulnerability than I used to be, thanks to therapy.  The volunteer brought me back to the start and finish line, where I spent another hour sitting in a camping chair trying to regroup.  They happened to have a massage therapist onsite who went to work on trying to sooth my leg cramps.  It helped a little, and I was grateful for her support.  I was finally able to hobble back to my car, but when I arrived, I had to sit down again right away because I was so drained and cramped up.  I took an hour long nap in my car on the way home, and finally arrived home at around 3:00 AM.  

I had a long recovery after Cool Moon, but roughly a month later, on June 29th, I found myself at the start line of the Golden State 50K at the Fort Ord Day Camp Cycling Area, near Marina, California.  After my failure at Cool Moon, I was frustrated.  I felt like I had acted foolishly for trying to run a 50-miler after what happened at Canyons.  I knew that my problem was the fact that I wasn't training as hard as I needed to, and I wasn't putting in the volume needed to make it through these long races.  But I had another problem.  I was stubborn.  I accepted my defeat twice at Canyons and Cool Moon, but I wasn't done fighting yet.  I told myself I needed to finish at least one ultramarathon this year.  I knew I could do it.  Thankfully, my stubbornness paid off, and I was able to finish strong at the Golden State 50K.  Unlike my previous two ultramarathons this year, Golden State was one of those races where virtually everything went as well as it could have gone.  When the race started off, the sky was dominated by marine layer clouds, and the temperature was in the mid fifties, which was perfect.  I met a lot of cool people out on the course, including a handful of runners who were running an ultra for the first time.  Among them was a member of the Marine Corps who was in his tenth year of service, along with an aspiring actress who had come up from LA.  I told them that they'd probably view the world differently when they cross the finish line of their first ultramarathon.  I know I sure did.  The course was beautiful, and featured lots of coastal mountain scenery.  Green rolling foothills dominated the horizon, and tall yellow and brownish mountain peaks poked at the sky in the distance.  The race featured about 3,500 feet of elevation gain, but the climbs were pretty moderate.  The clouds burned off and the sun warmed the course up, but overall things were going really well.  That is until about mile twenty-six.  One thing I remembered reading in the course description on the website was that there were some sandy parts of the course.  I had run through some areas where there was some loose dirt on the trail that resembled sand, but I didn't think much of it.  At the twenty-six mile mark, the course took a sharp turn up a short, but steep climb that was literally up a sand hill.  I guess that was what they meant when they said there would be some sandy sections.  It was a tough climb at that point in the race, but I made it up to the top.  During the last few miles I was feeling tired, but I kept moving.  With about two miles to go, I came up behind a guy who was walking.  He told me he had been puking for the last several miles and couldn't keep anything down, so he was going to walk it out.  I felt sympathetic, considering I had a big puking rally at Cool Moon.  "I know man, it sucks".  I said.  "That was me at my last ultra.  But you look great, keep going.  We're almost done".  I crossed the finish line in six hours and twenty-six minutes, which was better than I anticipated.  I changed into a new shirt, grabbed a beer from finisher's tent, and sat down in the shade against a tree while I watched runners cross the finish line.  Everyone I met on the course finished, and I congratulated all of them when I saw them come in.  I had a good day, so I felt like I had to spread the positivity to others.  That afternoon I drove home to Samantha and Aidan with my heart full.  

Just like all things in life, running ebbs and flows.  Some years are better than others.  This has been one of the tougher years.  When I look back to 2019, the year I finished the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-Miler, I remember the fact that I was running pretty huge miles back then, and that's why I was able to successfully finish.  But that was a different era.  Back then I was single and childless, and I didn't have as demanding of a career as I do now.  Times have changed, but that's life.  You have to keep moving forward.  I can still be an ultrarunner, but I have to have realistic expectations.  And if I'm going to sign up for a race, I better be willing to put in the miles that are needed for the training.  I'm glad I was able to finish at least one ultramarathon this year, and we'll see how the rest of the year plays out.  All I can say is it's a good thing that I have a stubborn side to my personality and I kept signing up for ultras until I finished one!