Do Steep Things

I can't believe how short my 7-year-old daughter's legs are, and they still continue to push, up and over the rocky obstacles on this steep trail. She looks up, determined, and asks when we will be at the "P."

I'm tired, dragging with each step and I look back at my wife and our other two kids, with one hand holding the dog's leash and my other clasped around my youngest daughter, trying to control both, and mention that we seem to always seek out steep trails for our family hikes.

This hike isn't especially long, and it's not as steep as the one we all did in Hawaii, where we had to cling to a chain and pass a couple of "if you value your life, you will turn around right now" signs and I questioned my judgment as a protector of the family as my wife and I took turns holding tightly to our kids as we made the final climb up the unnamed trail to the radio tower overlooking Waimea Canyon.

Every time we leave our house, we can see the giant "P" on the hill and the kids have asked to hike up there for years. It's not a long hike, but it was steeper than it looked, and when we finally made it to the white rocks that make the "P," my kids didn't realize that we were even standing on it.

I couldn't sleep last night because of this tightness in my chest. It happens a lot and I have a hard time controlling it. Meditation helps, some other things help, but it doesn't go away for good. I'm nervous for my kids. I want them to always be safe. My mind jumps from that to people that I may have hurt. I mentally catalog the shit-talking I have done lately, the sarcasm that seems funny at the time, but should be filtered. There are other things I think about that aren't quite as important, but they still occupy my thoughts in the middle of the night. This is the time of year when I plan adventures for the upcoming year, and there are a few things I want to do that really scare me. Races that I don't think I can finish, and routes that I know will test the limits of my endurance.

There have been some amazing sunsets over the last couple of weeks, and every chance I get, I try to recruit my family into driving up to the tallest hill in the area, and I drive fast in order to beat the sun before it slips into the ocean. My son is the most eager to go. He's not that into sunsets, but he loves climbing up and down this really steep trail from the children's playground to this tree at the viewing area. The trail scares me because if he fell, or slipped, it is steep enough that he wouldn't be able to stop himself until he hit the bottom which would be a painful, but not life-threatening slide of about 30 feet. I try not to watch as he makes excuses to take the trail down to the playground, then back up. I can see other parents looking at me, looks of disapproval, or maybe envy. He won't sit still until the sun actually sets, and only with the promise of the legendary green flash, will he watch the sun dip into the water.

I let him run down from the parking lot to the bottom of the hill, where I meet him with the car. It's dark, it's steep, and he loves it. He runs so fast, and with such abandon, that I usually don't have to wait longer than about a minute as he makes the 1/2 mile run. I worry that he'll slip and fall in the dark, and I mostly worry that my wife will say "I told you so" because it is something that she would never let him do, and she makes a point of telling me that as he breathlessly recounts his adventures to her and my oldest daughter when we get home. I don't tell them how I waited at the bottom of the hill, nervously squinting my eyes in the dark, hoping to see my son turn that last corner and run into my arms.

It's not like I teach him this shit. We do steep things, and I don't even encourage it. They wear me down, until I eventually say yes, let's make the climb, or yes, you can run down the hill in the dark, but I say yes and I think it's a good decision and I think it's the right decision (mainly because nobody has gotten seriously hurt, yet), and when I see that determination in my daughter's face, and her pride at the top when she realizes that the painted white rocks covered with graffiti laying in what seems to be haphazard piles actually make up the giant "P" that they see whenever they drive anywhere within five miles from our house. We will continue to do steep things against better judgement, and fighting back my own fears and reservations, because my kids need to know that we can do steep things. It doesn't matter if they are young, or their legs are short, or they are thirsty and hungry, or they are girls. They can do steep things.

Sometimes the steepest thing is getting out of bed, after a night of no sleep, and putting on a happy face as the kids show me what trouble the Elf on the Shelf got into, and not really knowing what is wrong. On days like today, climbing up a mountain with my family, is the least steep thing I can think of doing.

Thanks for reading.

Vertical Beer Mile

Mix a steep hill, some stupid/competitive/crazy/fast runners, and four beers of your choosing (at least 5% alcohol by volume), and you have what could either be a complete clusterf@#$, or an absolutely great time. I guess it depends more on the participants than anything else, and as I looked around at the group prepping their beer transition areas, I knew that this was the right group to take on the first ever vertical beer mile (after a rigorous day of research, I discovered that there have been other vertical beer miles, just not like the one we did, so I'd like to set up some strict standards in order to compare results, test for illegal non-drug use, and foster a spirit of unhealthy competition across the world, or at least between the states of California and Colorado).

Carlyn, an amazing runner who also has the unfortunate trait of being unable to say no to a running adventure, or to a particularly welcoming toilet bush, is leaving us and heading out to Virginia, or maybe Wisononsin, or some other state east of the Rockies, and she wanted to do something fun before she left. It had to be something special, because Carlyn is pretty awesome. She has led or joined a number of really cool adventures including a traverse of Zion National Park, the Grand Canyon R2R2R, as well as a couple of very memorable days in Joshua Tree and among the peaks of Baldy and Gorgonio. Carlyn also leads outdoor yoga classes at the beach (good luck doing that in Wisconginia, Carlyn). So, the idea of a beer mile send-off was suggested, and I thought we really needed to step it up because that is what we do, so I threw out the idea of a Vertical Beer Mile (VBM).

After much discussion, here are the rules we came up with:

1) Find a steep, rugged, and accessible 1/8 mile section of trail. The vertical elevation gain should be between 80-100 feet for the 1/8 mile section.

2) Find a group of stupid and/or crazy people who like to drink a lot, don't really care about their own safety, and will say "yes" to almost any challenge or dumb idea that is presented (some people just call them runners).

3) Set up a drinking transition area at the bottom of the hill.

4) Every participant is responsible for bringing their own beer, and it needs to be over 5% alcohol, or risk being ridiculed by the other competitors.

5) Place a bell at the top of the hill as the turnaround point.

6) Drink a beer before starting the first hill repeat, run to the top of the hill, then run back down. Repeat 3 more times for a total of 4 beers and hill repeats (adding up to a mile).

7) The beer must be consumed in the transition area, and if any participant throws up, they must complete an extra hill repeat (minus the extra beer).

8) The clock starts before the first beer and ends after completion of the last hill repeat.

9) A celebratory post-race beer is recommended, but not mandatory.

After proposing the initial idea, I conveniently started another 21-day detox/cleanse. Since I wasn't drinking, I offered to drive, take pictures, be the official timer, and just offer random advice (gems like "you've got to swallow all of it, no spitting allowed").

The group assembled on an unseasonably warm November day; everyone grabbed their six-packs and made the hike to the bottom of the hill. Some of the top ultra runners in San Diego, and definitely the top beer-swilling drunners in all of California were present. Four women and eight guys started, and I think there were only 2 DNFs, no PNFs (puking non-finishers), and 0 falls, which was a little disappointing, because even hiking down the rugged trail (with no beer to impair my balance), I nearly fell. I was hoping to capture some gnarly wipeouts, and in the process amass amazing footage for Tosh.0, but it was not to be; the talent level of this group was just too high.

Brian Peterson, in his last and most important key workout before this weekend's Chimera 100, led the way and in the process set the fastest known time at 9:44, which was a pretty amazing feat. Unfortunately for Brian, he held the FKT for a mere 5 minutes as what looked like the ghost of Prefontaine came running down the hot and dusty trail, but in reality was latecomer Gregory Wagner, driving directly from Joshua Tree and sporting a legitimate track uniform complete with long wool socks. Greg did a few hamstring stretches on the broken wooden fence, cracked a Ballast Point and proceeded to sprint up the hill. Everyone started laughing and there were a few doubters out there, murmuring that there was no way he could keep that pace. Someone switched in a Sculpin IPA on his second lap, but without missing a beat, Greg downed the 7% IPA, and sprinted up for a second time. He kept the fast pace for the next two repeats and finished in an amazing 8:12. Hands on knees at the finish line, spit falling from the corners of his mouth, he kept it down and no extra lap was needed. Greg was the champion of the day and now holds the internationally recognized fastest known time for the Vertical Beer Mile (Ultra Adventure Rules).

Carlyn, we'll all miss you. Safe travels, and I'm sure our trails will cross again on some new, crazy adventure that none of us will be able to say no to.

Horny Lizards and Deer Ticks

So, it rained this morning and I was supposed to go on a field trip with my son to Batiquitos Lagoon, but they cancelled it because they don't want the kids to get wet. This is my favorite kind of running weather...muddy trails, clouds, a cool wind, and the chance of being covered in rain and mud all add to the experience. I texted some friends, wondering if anyone was up to getting muddy with me, in a running-related way. They all responded that they were working, so after letting them know they were a bunch of responsible members of society, and I meant that in the worst possible way, I changed into my wet-weather gear and was out on the trail, heading in the direction of the Horned Lizard Trail.

My thoughts quickly turned to why we can no longer call things with horns, horny. It's too bad. I don't like the word horned. It's one of those words that isn't quite one syllable, but it's not two either. I mumble a lot, so I feel like I have to over-pronounce things so people understand what I'm saying, so I end up saying horn-ed, like some character on Downton Abbey. I have an English friend who is an English teacher (which is almost cheating, I don't even think he needs a teaching credential for that, he probably just showed up to the job interview and was like, yeah I can teach English, check out my accent), and I'll have to ask him how to pronounce the word horned, but until then, I'm taking it back. I'm calling the trail the Horny Lizard trail. Just because some people are immature and can't handle the fact that reptiles have horns and are thus horny, we shouldn't have to change the word. It's just another case of ruining language due to society's lowest common denominator. Besides, I have never seen a lizard that wasn't horny, the way they look at you sideways and dart their tongue in and out, licking their lizard lips. Those are some horny bastards.

Yesterday was an awesome day. It started way too early at an aid station for the Lake Hodges 50K and 15K. I was pretty sick from a Halloween party the night before (and 4 hours of sleep and 2 Alka-Seltzers didn't help much), but hanging out with friends and helping runners put me in a great mood. Our aid station was school-themed, which really was just an excuse to get my wife to buy a school girl outfit. She had this big paddle and used it to give the runners an extra boost as they left our aid station. She was a little too good at it.

After a nap and some delicious Persian food from the mother-in-law, we rallied and headed out to the Belly Up to see one of my favorite bands, Deer Tick. It was a great show, complete with a tribute to Lou Reed, a Hank Jr. cover, and every song that I wanted to hear. The lead singer, John McCaulley, sings his heart out, and with such passion, that it makes me think there is no way he can keep it up for more than 5 years or so. I know some runners like that, always running too much, too fast, too hard, and they probably know that they should slow down, take some rest days, not race so much, but just try telling them that.

Thanks for reading,

Coyote Trail

I have all of these romantic notions of why I love to run...the connection to nature, hanging out with friends, working through the stuff that's in my head, the routine, the effects on my mental and physical health. And while running is all of these things, sometimes it's just about the hurt.

It's primal, I guess, this need to put myself through pain. A more evolved me would shy from it and hide in the safe, comfortable bubble of self-preservation, but sometimes I need to feel the physical pain. And I'm not talking about the great feeling after the struggle, the overcoming of pain, but just the pain itself.

Cameron and I set off on a short run on some local trails around the neighborhood. It's a familiar route, up the steep hill behind the old dump to the La Costa Preserve, down the switchbacks of the Horned Lizard Trail, to the Copper Creek connector trail, across a couple of small streams and hand-built bridges, through a tunnel of trees, then out, and instead of continuing up to the water tower, Cameron pointed to a narrow single track, "wonder where that one leads?" It doesn't take much to convince me, so I turned onto the trail that led up a steep, rocky hill. "Let's find out," I said as we were already pushing up the hill.

What started as a single-track trail quickly turned into one of the hundreds of coyote trails that snake through the local hills. You can tell a coyote trail from a running trail because the brush quickly closes in at chest level. That, and it's really hard to follow. We worked our way up the hill as the branches tore at my shirt, my shorts, and tore at me, marking their path in blood up and down my legs. I half-expected to turn around and see a witch brandishing a big, red apple, and I quickly glanced around for the little people who would rescue me.

We slowly pushed forward as the trail disappeared and each step brought thicker, sharper bushes. We were close to the top, and had covered too much ground to turn around and put ourselves through the pain of a retreat over the same ground that we had painfully won. We stopped, surrounded by overgrown bushes and trees, and with no trail to guide us, we just pushed towards the top of the hill. With every step towards the top, and with every new cut, there was this release, this screw you to comfort, to safety, and to sitting behind a computer all day.

After what seemed like a very long time, we reached a familiar trail near the water tower. I took my shoes off and dumped out the accumulated dirt, picked the nettles out of my clothes and skin, and we compared the bloody cuts that crisscrossed our legs.

I talked to Cameron on the way back about feeling down, about lacking motivation, about not wanting to be tied to future races and adventures in order to be able to motivate myself right now, and he offered some good advice, but the best medicine of the day came deep in the bushes, on a trail that was no longer a trail.