Strong until the end. RIP Ernie Chalekson.

Ernie at rest during a recent run

Early Sunday, like every Sunday morning, I waved to a great runner —a great human— as I got out of my car. Ernie was in the parking lot, getting ready for our trail run, surrounded by other runners. He appeared to be in charge, as usual, in his friendly and humorous way.

I was almost-late, tying my shoes and tightening the hydration pack before hitting the spectacular Millennium Trail in Calabasas, just north of Los Angeles. As always, I was glad to see Ernie. His big wave and equally big smile made you feel welcome and known. This Trail Runners Club is where you belong: that’s what he exuded as our fearless leader.

The group started, I hung back, then passed some folks. There was Ernie, floating up the hill with his familiar gait. I tapped his shoulder, squeezing by as I said good morning. He laughed, told me to go get them and have some fun. Ernie laughed a lot. He was funny and made others feel funny, too.

It saddens me to write this in the past tense. Ernie passed away later during that same run, on the gorgeous single-track path, not far from the trail head where we all gathered after 14 wonderful miles.

Others who knew him well will tell the world who Ernest Chalekson really was. I only know he made many of us feel good and welcome, every Sunday morning. We belonged there, on that trail, in those mountains, with each other, and with him.

Into the fire and mud (if there is any)

The comfort zone. It sounds like a nice place. A couch, a beer, a friend, a television perhaps. But many of us are constantly trying to get out of it. The runners I talked to in my book all mentioned their urge to get out of the comfort zone. When I charge up and down the Santa Monica Mountains, Sunday mornings at dawn, I do the same. Breathe, push, live, test myself. Getting out of bed when the world is asleep, then doing uncomfortable, even punishing stuff.

Running trails is one thing. A Reebok Spartan Race seems to be something else. “There is fire, mud, water, barbed wire, and occasionally Hell on Earth”, the website helpfully explains.

I will say I am intrigued. The Spartans are coming to Southern California and I think I will check it out. I’ve looked into Cross Fit lately: intense, short workouts to develop all sorts of strength and power. The Spartan philosophy seems to fit into the same mold.

With names like “Ultra Beast” (26.2 miles, 50 obstacles) the organizers seems to aim for tough guys with shaved heads, but anyone can, and does, take part.

Talk about leaving your comfort zone. Participants climb walls and ropes. They run and swim. They jump through fires and crawl under barbed wire. The mud featured in their races may be hard to find here in bone-dry southern California, but desert-like sand can be challenging, too.

It seems like a fun, tough workout. And it’s all shaped in inspirational messages I can relate to. “Where there is no struggle there is no strength.” “Conquer your obstacles.”

Whether you face your fears and obstacles on the trails or into the fire, to me it seems healthy either way.

Going high, finding beauty

People who don’t know LA often ask me why I live in LA. It’s not always easy to answer politely as they mindlessly criticize a place they may have visited once in 1992. Maybe I should simply show this photo of a special place near the city where I spend my Sunday mornings running. All around LA —and in even in the city— you can find serene, wild places. It’s one reason to live here.

A little film on the essence of running

Amsterdam was windy, grey, onstuimig, a Dutch word I love, meaning something like wild, unruly. The road seemed hard and unforgiving. The distance intimidated me. The silence I often love seemed ominous at this moment, at mile 7 in my first half marathon in years. I struggled with my breathing and posture, and wondered about this intimately familiar question: why?

In 2010 I conquered Amsterdam with a p.r. on the marathon. That’s how it felt, to return to my home country, skinnier en stronger and smoke-free, and run 26 miles in about three hours. Victory was mine. This time, my sister had a friend who had an extra ticket to start the half marathon. Of course, I blurted out “I’ll take it” before realizing whether my body and mind were ready.

They were, sort of. After going out too fast in the packed Amsterdam streets I settled into an easy pace, set by two strong runners running like clockwork. I followed and drafted, calming down as we glided toward the Vondelpark.That’s when I allowed myself to ask why. There is no answer, there are countless answers. My book is filled with them.

But the best way to look at the question —why run?— is in this beautiful little film. I’m late; it came out in 2013. But no matter. It’s amazing how these English filmmakers captured something like the essence of running. It will be well worth 11 minutes of your time.

The beauty of L.A.

Sometimes you run a few miles, breathing hard and focusing on the trail as you push up the Santa Monica Mountains, trying to keep up with the speedy guys of the Trailrunners Club. Then you look up and you see this Sunday morning beauty. You stop and realize how lucky you are.

Move over, depression

Imagine waking up grumpy. I won’t deny it may have happened to me once or twice. (Talk to my sisters, they remember.) Gloomy, slow, pissed off, sad, depressed? Whatever the reason, not to worry! I have known for years now that a run cures all. Well, not all. But much. A little jog, a long trek, a speedy tempo run, it all works.

The Dutch book chapter in which I discuss the piles of research linking exercise and improved moods was called “Smart mice go running”. Not sure now why I dropped that title in the English edition. It would have held up nicely, given today’s news: “Researchers say they have found evidence to support previous research that suggests exercise may reduce symptoms of depression.” Depression in mice, that is. And probably in humans, too.

So I’d say, hit the yoga mat, the boxing gym, the bike path, the water, or the running trail. It feels so good.

Finding cool air

Scrappy runners at 10,000 feet

The heat wave is about the break, but last Sunday it was HOT in LA. It seemed wise to escape. So I got up at 4:30 and hit the road to arrive in Mt. Baldy Village before 7 a.m. and meet the team.

I’d run up Baldy last year with Andy, a grueling ordeal. This time we began at a different point. The climb was much steeper. But man, was it worth it. I ran when I could, walked most of the way, lost team mates, lost the trail, kept going up. I passed several parts of a crashed airplane; it turns out it went down in 1949.

On top is was so cool my hands went cold. I think it was in the 50s as LA baked in the upper 90s. Living in LA I’d sort of forgotten I have Raynaud’s disease. But on top my hands got white/yellow-ish as I lost all feeling.

After the photo shoot Andy II (another speedy guy named Andy on Baldy!) and I flew down. We even hit some sub 6:30 miles during the perfect 6-mile descent. Great Sunday.

How (not) to run a marathon

The first half went smoothly. Perfect 62 degree weather. A forgiving course along the Lehigh River in Pennsylvania. Trees and shade, air and wind, quick steps and sweat in the sun: there is, in my humble view, simply no better way to spend a Sunday morning. And so it was that I felt good, just good, for 13 miles at 7:30 pace, just as planned.

It’s 7 a.m. and I’m filled with hope

At the halfway point, after miles of silence in nature, I found cheerful crowds. And Kelly. She handed me my Tailwind bottle, and told me I looked great. Maybe, I thought. But in truth my lungs and legs and digestive system were protesting. As in: refusing to keep that pace. Saying: we. should. stop. running.

A thought: I can simply pull out and give up, like two years ago. A counter-thought: no. I’d trained for this. Dreamed about it. Planned for it. Traveled from LA. After my surgeries and doubts and challenging recoveries I want this.

But first the stages of grief. Let me create the narrative right now, I thought after saying bye to Kelly. Hitting the trail again I slowed down. The denial (stage 1) was now behind me. I realized this was not the morning for anything like a personal best or a Boston qualifying time. Here was the anger (stage 2). I felt frustrated, cheated somehow by myself; how come I can’t hold this half-decent pace after all my hours of training and preparing? Bargaining (stage 3) was next: maybe if I slow down now, drink more, if I’m tougher on myself, if, if ,if. Around mile 16, a moment of shallow depression (stage 4) set in. I walked and felt my shoulders slump. I wondered how I might really stop and even disappear – from the race, from the world. I had to smile a my own ridiculousness. Kelly was at mile 20, I knew that, and that was where I was going. I remembered parts of the little list I had created for myself and tried to follow these simple tips from me to me:

Breathe calmly
Shoulders down
Back and neck straight
Head still
Swing arms back
Rotate hips
Lift knees
Controlled light steps
Land softly
Be a gazelle
Drink
One mile at the time
Don’t give up
Think of NYC 2010
Smile

Acceptance (stage 5) came, thankfully, as I made my way through the woods, following runners who had earlier passed me, passing walkers, being passed by faster souls, and opening my gaze to what was around me. I realized I was very lucky to be here, now, doing this. Speed was not the issue, this run in Pennsylvania was – nothing more and nothing less.

I finished in a time that’s not worth mentioning. And I felt grateful: my knees an foot and back and mind were in good order, even after my first real attempt at the 42K in almost four years.

This was one of the most beautiful courses and one of the best organized races I have participated in. Lovely all around – including terrific volunteers and free beer at the finish. If you’re anywhere close, go run it. Fly in if you have to, like I did. You may or may not qualify for Boston, but you will have experienced something special along the Lehigh River.

Run with a view

 

On occasion I still get the question: why do you live there? Of the many reasons to be in Los Angeles, the image above is an important one. On any given Sunday morning I:

Leave home at 6 to pick up my friend Matt,
drive 10 to 20 minutes,
meet a group of hardy, friendly, hard-core trail runners,
and take off into the wilderness for 11 miles on the greatest trails imaginable.

That’s Los Angeles, too. As a runner I ask: why would I not live here?

Oh, and the wildlife! This sluggish tarantula shared the trail with us before we got him/her out of the way…

 

Go long, young man

Runner and biker, sort of fresh at 6:30 a.m. – just 80 degrees and high humidity in Houston

Ah, the long run. I love it and hate it and need to embrace it. Even when I’m visiting Houston in August. That means: wake at 5. Eat at 5:30. Get in a car at 6. Start running at 6:30, just as the first light comes along.

These days I run on weekends with a beloved hydration pack: a small, tight-fitting pack that just fits a camelback reservoir. On this steamy Texas morning it was crucial to have it filled with my favorite Tailwind sports drink, forcing myself to drink every mile or so.

Luckily, I was not alone on this run. Kelly–looking smashing in pink– had offered to ride along on a bike. 20 miles is a lot of miles, I knew it was going to be slow, and so I eagerly accepted the idea of my athletic love distracting me, supporting me, cheering me on, being there. Her parents kindly gave us a ride, and off we went.

I have often prostelytized about one of the top reasons running is great: it gets you to see and experience places that would otherwise remain unseen, unexperienced. In this case I was surprised to see how lush, green, pleasant and even beautiful Houston is. They have opened up miles and miles of biking, walking and running trails. I was happy to see hundreds of other runners and bikers using the paths. Company makes running easier, and seeing all of these die-hards out there by 7 was just inspiring.

Kelly was a blur of pink speed in front of me. She served as my pacer and target. She would often disappear for a while, but knowing she was around the corner, beyond the trees, somewhere in front of me, got me to the 10-mile turnaround point almost effortlessly.

Then the challenges came. It was getting warm, about 90 degrees, and so very humid. Shade seemed harder to find. My stomach started protesting – “leave me alone, enough with water and electrolytes!”

I put my head down. I slowed down. I kept running, except for one mile, when Kelly took over and I rode her bike to relax and stretch my tired legs.

Finally, a sprint up the final hill and those 19 miles were behind me. I was reminded of summer runs in New York’s Central Park. And I learned once again what running can bring: discovery, camaraderie, and a bit of “I can do this” confidence.

Bringing it home, 20 miles later. Nice, hot day.