Gear Review: Hydration Packs

If you’re in the market for a hydration pack and have a few weeks to think it over, I think I can be a big help to you.

Several weeks ago I was contacted by not one, but two companies to field test their hydration packs, which seemed like a stroke of very good luck. You know the old saying about making lemonade when life gives you lemons? Well … what do you do when life gives you lemonade to start with?

The answer I came up with was that I’d try to collect as much lemonade as I could, and share my good fortune with as many people as possible. So I contacted a few other companies to pitch my idea, and found each of them remarkably supportive.

Consequently, over the next few weeks I’ll be posting reviews of six hydration packs, from six different companies. Here’s the lineup:

CamelBak: Octane XC (sorry, the pack doesn't have it's own page on the CamelBak site)

Inov-8: RacePro 4

GoLite: Rush

Nathan: HPL 020

Ultimate Direction: Wasp

North Face: style TBA (probably this one or this one)

Some of these are established models, and others are newcomers. All of them target a similar demographic: trail runners or adventure seekers who want a lightweight hydration system to fuel their activity, with minimal weight and maximal comfort.

As you’d imagine, there are some similarities between the packs. Each one listed above holds approximately 70 oz of fluid - which is a nice middle ground between carrying 2 or 3 bottles and the bulky 100-oz (or more) beasts that are used by wilderness trekkers. From an ultrarunner’s standpoint, it’s the perfect volume of fluid to allow a few hours of running before refueling - either on a long training day or between aid stations at an ultra. They all have storage areas to carry gear like clothing, food, or cameras, and they have all been strategically designed – in both material and shape – for comfort and convenience of use.

What struck me most about trying these models, though, was the ways they are different. Within the same category of packs, each company has come up with at least one (and in many cases, two or three) element that distinguishes it from its competitors. If you think that every hydration pack is the same, you’re probably in for a big surprise.

My plan is to discuss each pack in a stand-alone post like I typically do with product reviews. They won’t all be in succession, but I’m hoping to crank out two per week in addition to whatever else I’ve got on my mind between now and the end of May. Afterwards, I’ll do a post that compares all of the models together, with some “Best in Category” designations for things like comfort, ease of use, etc. By that time, you’ll have more than enough material to make an informed decision when you’re shopping for packs.

Since some of these are well-established packs, many readers might already be using one of the models I’m reviewing. If that’s the case, I’d love to get your opinion as well. At the end of each post, I’ll ask for feedback from anybody who has used that particular pack; feel free to confirm or disagree with anything I’ve mentioned in the review.

The first review will be up sometime next week – but first, there’s a race report I’ll have to take care of. The Quicksilver 50M is this Saturday in San Jose; if all goes according to plan, it will be the culmination of a 100-mile training week for me (things are definitely getting crazy – but at this time of year, crazy is good). I’ll try to have a race report here early next week, and kickoff the gear review shortly thereafter.


*See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you'd like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.

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Yosemite Falls Hike

Like many ultrarunners, I’ve always been reluctant to embrace the concept of hiking.

Given that most hiking takes place on the same terrain that I spend hours running up and down, purposely walking on trails seems awfully pedestrian, in both senses of the word. Like a track runner who wouldn’t get satisfaction out of merely walking around the oval, I can’t honestly claim to enjoy strolling through the wilderness more than I’d love running through it.

That’s why it takes a special trail to make me slow down and appreciate a good hike; a trail that is so challenging and scenic that you can’t help but take it easy and enjoy the journey at a slower pace than usual. Coincidentally, that’s also why I love hiking in Yosemite National Park.

In mid-April (three days before the Diablo 50-miler, to be exact), my wife and I spent two days in the park, with our main objective being a hike from the valley floor to Yosemite Point. It was scheduled to be a 10-mile round trip, with almost 3000’ of elevation gain. As luck would have it, our “schedule” was a little bit off – as I'll explain later.

Before we proceed, however, there’s one more note to address. When I first reported on this hike, I called Yosemite Falls the tallest waterfall in North America, as the park's own website claims, as well as this site and this site. However, one of my Canuck friends reported that the James Bruce Falls in British Columbia is taller – and sure enough, a different wiki page confirms this.

Actually, the more websites I found, the more confused the “tallest in North America” issue became. For example, Colonial Creek Falls in Washington is at the top of a few lists. Two waterfalls in Hawaii are even taller, but are apparently not properly in North America – which might come as news to most Hawaiians. Some waterfalls don’t run year-round. Some (like Yosemite) are split into separate cascades. The tallest waterfall may vary depending on what criteria you use.

The lessons, I guess, are twofold: 1) measuring waterfalls is not nearly as simple as it would seem, and – most importantly – 2) none of this really matters. Whether it’s the tallest or sixth tallest, Yosemite Falls is completely awesome – as you’ll soon see. Oh, and 3) You shouldn’t believe anything you read on the Internet. But you already knew that.

(One other fun waterfall fact: among the list of Canadian waterfalls is one in Newfoundland named Pissing Mare. I mean … I don’t even have to come up with a joke for that one, right? Canadians crack me up sometimes.)

On a random note, our first picture doesn’t have anything to do with the hike, but I wanted to share it anyway …

… because it’s a bear. And it’s Yosemite. Enjoying the outdoors doesn’t get much cooler than this.


So here we go - our objective for the day: Yosemite Falls (elev. 6526’) at left, with Yosemite Point (6936’) rising to the upper right.


We stayed at Yosemite Lodge (elev. 3900’) and walked about a half-mile to the trailhead for Yosemite Falls. The sign says it’s 3.4 miles to the top of the Falls; our Garmin eTrex Vista had it closer to 4. However, there were several spots where the signal was pretty shaky, and our gadget might have done a lot of extrapolation to make up for it. Either that, or the sign’s wrong. File this point under “doesn’t matter” as well.


The trail starts with a series of about 60 switchbacks under tree cover, where you gain elevation very quickly. About halfway up the switchbacks, you get your first glimpse of Half Dome through the trees.

The views of Half Dome will get better all day long. Approximately one mile up the trail, there’s an observation point with a great unobstructed view. However, you’ve barely started the climb, so don’t worry about spending too much time here.


A little further ahead, you get your first glimpse of the falls up close. See that white stuff all around it? That would be ice. The overnight temperature before this hike was 22 degrees – which makes for one very frosty waterfall. Also …


The mist spraying from the Falls was still freezing in the cool morning air, creating a shell of ice on several trees near the base.


Yosemite Falls on the left, Half Dome on the right. No other words necessary.


On the top third of the trail, the Falls disappear out of sight as you work your way around a ridge that blocks it from view. Near the top, the terrain takes on that distinctive Sierra Nevada look – and if you look closely, you’ll start to see snow here, at just below 6000’.


A little higher up, the snow’s much easier to see. From this point, the Falls are in one direction, and the trail to Yosemite Point is in another.


At the Falls overlook area, there’s a rocky staircase that leads down to the observation point. If you get squeamish about heights and narrow places, this might be a good stopping point.


The observation area is down by the railing. You don’t get as close to this fall as you can at the top of Nevada Fall or Vernal Fall, but the vantage point is still pretty impressive.


Even in early spring, the water was bombing down this rock face. Note all the ice on the side of the column.


Above the observation area, there are lots of rocky outcroppings with great views of the valley. Our second destination of the day, Yosemite Point, is here on the left, with Half Dome curving into it.


But first, we found a nice little perch for a lunch break.


Later, it was time to continue along the snowy trail towards Yosemite Point. It’s only supposed to be one mile from this turnoff point – but the snow temporarily wrecked havoc on our plans.

Starting towards the Point, you cross Yosemite Creek, which (obviously) is the water source for the Falls. The trail is still easy to follow at this point.


I love this sign for two reasons: one for the goofy look that some clever vandal drew on the dude’s face, and also for the “How can we make this any clearer?” warning (click to enlarge) that there are no second chances. In case you were wondering.


Looking downstream from the bridge, to where the water tumbles over. Remember – no second chances!


Upstream, you can see the trail off to the right hand side after crossing the river. Unfortunately, this was the last clear portion of the trail until we reached Yosemite Point.


Here’s how you know you’re lost: when your only sense of direction comes from following sets of footprints in the snow, and you suddenly realize that there are no tracks anywhere around you. This was a ridgeline that we bushwhacked our way up to, which turned out to be 300’ higher than the destination we were seeking. This little detour cost us an extra hour or more, as well as another couple of tricky miles that we weren’t bargaining for.


Eventually we made our way down to Yosemite Point, which features killer views across the valley. This is where I took the photo that concludes this post.

We relaxed a bit at the Point, grateful that we were back on the map, with all of our climbing for the day completed. We tiptoed our way back down to Yosemite Falls, double-checking and retracing our steps about every 50 yards or so to make sure we were still close to the consensus path down the rock.


On the way down, with the sunlight spilling in from a different direction than the morning, we found some rainbows to go with our ice. Nature's snow cone.


There’s one short side trail from the middle cascade area you can take on the way up or down, where you’ll find a great vantage point of both the middle and lower falls. It’s definitely worth a few extra minutes of walking.


Finally, about 7 hours and 12 miles after we left, we returned to our room at the lodge, which happened to have a great vantage point of the rock we had spent all day climbing on. It was the perfect end to an amazingly beautiful, rewardingly strenuous day. The feeling of satisfaction afterwards felt nearly as good as any long trail run I’ve done lately. In other words, it’s an ultrarunner’s kind of hike.

Yosemite Park is chock full of excursions like this – and I can’t wait to return here for another one. In fact, next time, I might try to tackle this guy:

I'll be sure to bring my camera.

*see other photo tours in sidebar at right

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Picture Me Runnin'

Well, then … that was interesting, wasn’t it?

Thanks to everybody who weighed in on my little squabble last week. I knew that posting it would light a powder keg of sorts between me and the person involved, but for some reason it was hard for me to let the matter go unaddressed. However, it felt very much out of character for me to have a spat like that with someone, and even stranger still to have the whole thing play out publicly. So in an effort to drag myself out of the ditch and back onto the moral high road, I’ll probably delete that post very soon.

(Note that I said probably; it’s much easier to say “I’m taking the high road” than to actually do it. But on a related note: if you have no idea what the heck I’m talking about, or if you wanted to go back and see everyone else’s comments, you’d better hurry. I’ll give you 24 hours.)

As far as whether or not to recommend the Big Sur Marathon anymore, that’s a tough call. I respect the proposed idea of boycotting races to protest the conduct of one or more board members, but I also know (and have stated here repeatedly) that Big Sur is a one-of-a-kind marathon experience. There are certainly plenty of other events where you can spend your time and money – but if you do Big Sur, you’ll be certain that you’re getting the best the sport has to offer.

So if you ever decide to do it, have a blast. Just DON’T make any comments about the race shirt – or you’ll suffer the wrath of the board.

For today’s post, I’m moving forward by looking back: specifically, at a couple of photos from my last two races before closing the books on those events for good, and turning my focus to the races still to come.

**
“Can you see me now?
Move to the side a little bit so you can get a clear picture -
Can you see it?
Picture me rollin’ … “
- Tupac, “Picture Me Rollin’” (link after post)

In my Big Sur Marathon report, I mentioned that I often take pictures of the Marathon Foto people and send them to the company in hopes that they’ll purchase them. It’s clearly a ridiculous plan on my part, but it’s not too much further fetched than the idea that runners will pay $19.95 for a 5x7” photo of themselves. I'm continually amazed that race photography somehow remains a sustainable business model.

Anyway … nobody has sent me money yet, but there’s another goofy fringe benefit of my little practice: the “photos of me taking a photo” that get posted online after each event.

Here’s one from last weekend:

Obviously, this eliminates the possibility of my ever receiving an action shot that I’d fall in love with and want to purchase – but it’s not like this was going to happen anyway. And if my looking like an idiot makes one of the minimum wage photo reviewers smile sometime, I guess that’s reward enough for me.

The next picture is from the Diablo 50-miler, but allow me to set the stage a bit.

Most of us have been in this situation: barely hanging on during a tough stretch of a race, struggling through fatigue or cramping or severe heat or a giant climb that makes the thought of continued forward progress almost unbearable. Maybe you’ve slowed to a walk or slumped over to one side to compensate for pain on the other. Your confidence is shattered; if there were some place to hide away from it all, you’d gladly seek it out.

Then you glance a little further up the road or trail and see a photographer waiting to snap your picture, and you think, “Crap! Where were they earlier, when I felt better?”

You trudge along a bit, and finally say to yourself, “All right - I guess I’ll straighten up and jog a few steps so I don’t look like a complete loser.”

Sometimes, the results can be pretty sweet:

This was taken at some point on the climb to the Mt Diablo summit – I honestly have no idea where – and it was posted in a gallery shortly after the race. Special props to Calvin, who takes race photos, creates galleries, allows downloads and apparently does all of this for free - vaulting him to the top of my list of extremely cool people who I had no idea existed prior to this year (seriously, he’s right up there with Big B now).

With that, Diablo and Big Sur are in the rearview mirror. The Quicksilver 50M is this Saturday, and Western States is a mere seven weeks later. Training-wise, everything is right where I want it to be – and at this point, I just need to keep moving forward by any means necessary.

**
As for the musical portion of this post … it’s Tupac’s rap classic mentioned above, but since the language is completely gangsta, I’m linking to it outside my blog instead of embedding it here. Feel free to get your thug on here.

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TrailLeader 2 Watch Review

Ask any ultrarunner for his or her biggest complaint about GPS units, and you’re likely to get the following answers:

1) The unit is too large or bulky
2) The battery life is too short
3) The satellite signal doesn’t track consistently
4) They’re too expensive

So if you heard there was a speed and distance monitor that 1) was the same size as a wristwatch, 2) Had the battery life of a normal watch, 3) was unaffected by satellite signals, tracking under the heaviest tree cover or in the deepest canyons, and 4) costs about 100 dollars … wouldn’t you be excited to try something like that out?

That’s exactly how I felt when I received a TrailLeader 2 watch to review.

The TrailLeader 2 is made by a company called Tech4O (pronounced tech-four-oh), and is one notch below the top of the line – there is a more expensive model that also incorporates heart rate data – in their series of performance watches. The speed and distance data is obtained not by GPS, but by an internal accelerometer.

Prior to owning this watch, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as an accelerometer – it sounded like some kind of make-believe gadget from an old cartoon, like Spacely Sprockets or Mr Peabody’s Wayback Machine. But it turns out that accelerometers actually exist, so I turned to my local science geek for a brief lesson. I asked him to explain to me, in the simplest terms possible, how an accelerometer works.

Here is part of his reply:
**
The accelerometer works by measuring acceleration in x, y, z axes. A good analogy is driving in your car: when you accelerate forward (the x direction) you are pushed into your seat. As long as you are accelerating, you stay pushed into the seat. When you reach constant velocity, you feel no more push. When someone smashes into the side of the car, you suddenly accelerate to the side (the y direction) and you feel pushed toward the side of the impact. In an airplane, you feel similar forces in the z direction as the plane lifts and drops.

A force transducer in your seat could measure your acceleration in these directions. The vector of these forces describes your net motion. If you know how long you accelerated in all three directions, you can calculate your position at any moment.

The watch is just like your car, and the internal workings are like a little man being thrown around as your arm swings. The little man's calculation would be something like: "I felt N newtons in my X sensor for S seconds, therefore I am now moving 6 minutes per mile forward (it doesn't know north or east, just its starting point with coordinates 0,0,0). Until I feel another force, I know that I am still moving forward at this pace. Now I feel another acceleration of N newtons in the X sensor for S seconds, so I know that I am now moving at 5:30mi/min. But now I feel a force of N newtons on the Y sensor, so I know that I have deflected to the left. Now I feel N newtons on the negative X sensor, so I know that I have slowed down..." etc....

If the accelerometer knows its mass accurately, it knows its acceleration simply from the force it feels. More simply, at constant velocity, the watch feels motionless. But any change in velocity can be tracked, therefore the watch can keep track of its position in x,y,z space. If you plot x, y, z often, you get a good estimate of distance traveled, the time it took, and therefore pace.
**
So, um … there you go. Be thankful I didn’t ask for the complicated version.

As for the watch itself - it’s packed full of features that seem tailor made for ultrarunners: speed, distance, pace, barometric altimeter (including change in elevation and net climb and/or descent), digital compass, barometer and temperature readings. This is in addition to all of the normal watch features you’d get in a Timex.

The TrailLeader doesn’t interface with computer software, so if you’re someone who likes making maps and graphs of every single workout, you’re out of luck. Personally, I’ve never been too interested in plugging my workouts into a computer program, so it’s no big loss. The simplicity is also a major factor in keeping the price point low: the list price on the Tech4O website is $150, but on the same page is a coupon code offering $50 off – so you can have all of these features for 100 bucks. To my knowledge, there isn’t a reputable GPS in the world that sells for anything close to that.

Since the accelerometer doesn’t rely on on satellites, it’s not dependent on overhead clearance for accuracy. It doesn’t even matter if you’re actually moving – in theory, you could run 5 miles on a treadmill in the basement of your health club, and the accelerometer would record the distance. (On the flip side, if you rode your bike 100 miles in your aerobars, the accelerometer would read zero, since your arm wasn’t swinging).

Another huge advantage over most GPS watches is the battery life. All of the functions operate with the standard wristwatch battery, which runs continuously and never needs to be recharged. Therefore, you can use it for 50-mile, 100K, or other events that would normally drain a 10-hour GPS battery. (There’s one quirky caveat to this, though: according to the user’s manual, the speed/distance measure automatically resets at midnight – so if you’re doing a 100-miler, you’d have to check the distance at 11:59 and remember to add it to whatever you start accumulating at 12:01. No, I haven’t tested this specific situation.)

The TrailLeader 2 is also a decent looking contraption, and not much larger than a standard sports watch. I’m stealing a photo from Rainmaker (who also reviewed the TrailLeader 2 a few months back) of a Timex watch, TrailLeader 2, Garmin 405, and Garmin 305 to show a size comparison:

On your wrist, it doesn’t feel that much different than a sleek Ironman wristwatch. So far, everything sounds great, right? Let’s get to the drawbacks:

The primary frustration I’ve had in using this watch is the reliability of the speed/distance function. In addition to the internal accelerometer, the watch utilizes a pedometer to calculate distance. You don’t attach anything to your shoe; instead, you program separate values for your walking step length and running step length. There is a link on the website with instructions on how to do this, and it only takes a few minutes. However, in the months that I’ve used it, I find that the accuracy seems to vary in different circumstances, depending on what type of running you’re doing.

At the track, after some tinkering with the stride length, the accelerometer was accurate to within a few hundredths of a mile. It was on the trails that I started having difficulty.

Like most ultrarunners, I vary my pace quite a bit during a typical trail run, as much of the terrain I encounter includes very steep climbing. One of my regular climbs features about 1800’ of elevation gain in less than 3 miles; the slope is so steep in places that I alternate walking and jogging throughout the climb. Invariably, by the time I reach the top of the hill, the accelerometer’s distance is off, and not just by a little bit – sometimes by as much as two-tenths per mile.

My hypothesis is that there are two primary sources of error: 1) my stride length when jogging up a steep hill isn’t the same as my stride length when calibrating the watch on a flat surface, and 2) although there are different values for walking step length and running step length, the watch doesn’t bounce back and forth between the two modes in perfect rhythm with my actual movements. There may be a delay in switching from one value to another, or a very slow jog might be measured as walking.

Since almost all of my running is on trails like this, I’ve adjusted the stride length values one notch lower or higher about 100 times, then seeing if the distance numbers came close to a GPS reading. Here’s how determined I was to make it work: on several runs, I wore both my accelerometer and a GPS, and recalibrated every one or two miles. (Yes, I looked like an idiot. Thank God I do most of my running in the dark.) To my enormous frustration, I could never get the numbers to jive when there was a combination of running and walking.

I managed to get the numbers accurate for runs on rolling terrain, or where I could keep a fairly constant pace – say, only varying one or two minutes per minutes per mile instead of five or ten. In those circumstances, I found the accelerometer to be reliable for runs of more than 10 miles.

There are a few other downsides, but they’re relatively minor in comparison to the distance issue – so I’ll wrap this review up with a quick summary:

Pros:
* Compact size, comfortable to wear
* Multiple functions for outdoor data gathering
* No need to recharge battery; no battery drain for ultra-duration activity
* VERY affordable
* Accelerometer technology works in all conditions, not satellite dependent.
* Accurate when running or walking at relatively consistent pace

Cons:
* Stride length may need to be recalibrated a few times during initial use
* Inaccurate when running/walking with great variability in speed
* Since the accelerometer is useless for measuring cycling distance, the watch can’t be used for bike/run transition workouts.
* No uploading of workouts to your computer.

The TrailLeader 2 certainly presents an intriguing option for runners or hikers who are looking for an affordable alternative to using GPS devices on the trail. I would recommend it to anyone who just wants a general idea of the mileage they’re covering along with time, temperature, and elevation data. I wish the technology were a bit more refined to address the distance discrepancies I found; perhaps a future generation of this line will do a better job.


See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you’d like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.

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Big Sur Marathon Race Report

“It’s a beautiful day – don’t let it get away …”
-U2, “Beautiful Day”

For me, the 2009 Big Sur Marathon wasn’t supposed to happen. I had prepared to sit out this year’s event in favor of my ultramarathon schedule for the spring – but then I became the beneficiary of good connections and good luck, and a race entry basically fell into my lap.

Given my history with this race, this was an offer that was pretty much impossible to decline, but I didn’t want to disrupt my overall training buildup by doing a taper or having an extended recovery period afterwards. I also knew there wasn’t a chance that my long, slow trail mileage (or last week's 50-miler, for that matter) would enable me to run Big Sur at nearly the pace I’ve kept in the past. In other words, I had to take things pretty easy.

So my goals for this race – and for this report – were pretty straightforward: run in a way that wouldn’t destroy me, and try to capture some of the sights (and sounds!) that make this one of the most wonderful events in running. Remember how I said that John Steinbeck often referred to the epic East of Eden as his love letter to the Salinas Valley? Think of this as my love letter to the Big Sur Marathon – except with about 1000 times less writing talent.

However, what I lack in literary merit, I’ll try to make up for in photographs. On that note, we may as well jump in. As usual, click any of these to enlarge:

Probably the worst aspect of running Big Sur happens right off the bat: the long wait at the start area in the pre-dawn darkness. The logistics of getting hundreds of schoolbuses up and down a 2-lane coastal road dictate that runners are dropped off in Big Sur as much as 2 hours before the 6:45AM start time. If you’re looking to have a good race, you have to find a place to huddle from the cold and conserve your energy as much as possible while killing time before the race begins.

On the other hand, if you’re an ultrarunner who’s just looking for a high-volume training day …


You take off running. I estimated how much time I had to burn, then ran from the start area in my warm-ups, eventually making it about a half-mile past this marker before turning around.

One huge benefit of running three miles down the road before the marathon is that there aren’t any lines for the porta-potties.

When I returned to the start area, there were signs of life, but I still had about 20 minutes to kill, so I did another mile before stripping off my sweats and hopping into the start corral.

8 miles down, 26.2 to go. Life is good.

This girl inspired my favorite comment from the first mile, courtesy of my friend Bill: “Whoa – I almost wore that exact same outfit today!”

The first miles are gently rolling, but generally downhill through the redwood forests of Big Sur. If you didn’t know what lies ahead, you’d be tempted to push the pace and knock out some fast split times. Some folks do that anyway … they’re usually the same folks you see walking during the last 10K.


I like this shot: runners exiting the shade of the redwoods, heading to the wide open, sunny pastures that lie ahead. Of course, at Big Sur, “wide open” also means “this is where the headwinds start slamming you,” but it sounds much more enticing the first way I said it.



Emerging from the trees, runners see the first of an endless series of ocean vistas. They need all the serenity they can get, because …


… this is where the race becomes very challenging. Most of miles 7 and 8 are a long, gradual climb into the wind. On the plus side, the historic Point Sur Lighthouse remains in sight on the left throughout most of this section. And on the right …


… cows! I’ll just go ahead and make a rule: if I see cows during a race, they make it into the race report. I’ve mentioned before that I like cows, haven’t I?


By mile 9, you crest a hill and get your best vantage point of Point Sur – but if you look farther down the road …


… you get your first glimpse of the climb up to Hurricane Point. The good news is that you’ve got a mile of downhill to rest up and build your courage for the challenge ahead.

You’ve also got the taiko drummers – and this is the first of a few video clips I’m including to provide a better sense of the race day energy:



I absolutely love these drummers. I’ve written a whole article about them. In my mind, they’re the defining feature of the Big Sur Marathon - even more than the Bixby Bridge or Hurricane Point. Here’s what I wonder, though: do you think any of these songs have names, or sheet music? It seems like every song could be called “The One Where We All Drum Quickly in Rhythm”.

The drummers sit at the base of the climb, so their drumbeats help motivate you while pushing up the first portion of the hill. Before long, though, you realize how lengthy this 2-mile climb really is.

What’s worse is that the road bends around so many curves that you always think you’re getting near the top, only to find that the hill just continues around the corner. If you’re not expecting it, this stretch can be quite discouraging.

Approaching Hurricane Point, the road barely hugs the slope of the hill – in many ways, it’s amazing that they can build and maintain a road along this kind of topography. Above is a shot looking up the hillside …

… and here's one looking down. Not much margin for error if you’re a reckless driver or meandering cyclist.

At the summit, headwinds were sustained at about 20mph – which is about average by Big Sur standards. Occasionally, the wind up here is so bad that it knocks people sideways. The winds and the exposure also make this section very cold …

… as these two poor volunteers will tell you. If you ever think calling out split times is an easy gig, come volunteer at Big Sur someday.


It’s from the top of Hurricane Point that you get your first glimpse of the Bixby Bridge, and the long downhill plunge you’ll take to get there. Heading down the hill, you’ll start to hear notes from the grand piano across the bridge drifting closer in the breeze.

Bixby is the Big Sur Marathon’s most famous landmark, as well as its halfway point. Once you cross the other side, you’re on your way home. But if you’re not in a huge hurry …

… you can have your picture taken with the piano player. They actually have a team of volunteers assigned to do this for you. And if you’re REALLY not in a hurry …




… you can stop and listen to the music for a while. As my luck would have it, “Chariots of Fire” – one of my favorites – was playing right as my batteries went dead. By the time I changed them, he was on to Simon and Garfunkel. Kind of disappointing - but that’s just me being picky.

Leaving the bridge, there’s another long downhill stretch ahead, but you can also see the road climbing again in the distance. Although you’ve gone up and over the biggest hill, the roller coaster has just begun.

At least you’ll have great views to keep you company the whole way.


You know how some people like to leave presents for Santa Claus? Sometimes I like to send photos to the Marathon Foto people. I e-mail them a very small, grainy version of a shot like this, and tell them that I’ll send the full-size picture if they send me 30 bucks. So far they haven’t bit, but maybe one of these days I’ll get lucky.

Usually by the time you cross the Garrapata Creek bridge at mile 17, one of two things have started happening: you’re either running strong and trying to plot out your strategy for attacking the final 10K, or you’re starting to feel the effects of the miles and the hills – the first wobbles of wheels that are coming loose and threatening to fall off a few miles down the road. Or perhaps, a combination of both.

Fortunately you've still got musical accompaniment along the way:



This is a group of middle schoolers playing some pretty tight classical tunes. (That’s what the kids say, right? Tight means good, doesn’t it? I’m pretty sure that’s it.)

Here’s where the real challenge begins: Carmel Highlands, where the hills get steeper and the miles get longer. Logically, only one of those things is true, but it sure doesn’t seem that way when you’re out there.

The views are still pretty through the Highlands – but by this time you’d gladly trade them for a glimpse of the home stretch.

The houses are fairly nice, too – although a lot of the neighbors aren’t home today …

… because they’re all at the neighborhood party, hosted by the local convenience store. You know why they pick this spot for the party?

Because it’s across the street from the strawberry aid station! The owners of the gas station and residents of the Highlands all pitch in to buy the strawberries and staff this heavenly waypoint on the toughest section of the course. It’s independently owned and operated; during my few minute visit there, I tried to talk these kind folks into franchising out to serve some nearby ultras – sadly, I’m not sure that I convinced them.


Eventually you leave the Highlands – and when you start seeing Carmel Beach in the distance to the left, you know you’re finally getting close.

This lady is at Big Sur every year, and I’ve tried to describe her before, but words never seem to do her justice. That’s why I was glad I brought my camera:



I look forward to seeing her every time I run Big Sur – because aside from the obvious reason, it’s also an indication that you’re almost home …

… but you still have one good hill left to climb. That’s the mile 25 marker, with “D Minor Hill at D Major Time” in the background. I’ve walked up that hill far too many times than I care to admit; this year, it felt great to cruise to the top of it with a spring in my legs and a smile on my face.

Just a little farther along, and you’re there! The finish chute is always a huge celebration – but at Big Sur, it seems all the more dramatic because of the noticeable lack of spectators during the previous 25 and a half miles. But all of a sudden the road is packed with fans, you can see the finish line, and you feel like an absolute rock star.

In fact, the only thing that could make you feel better is …


A massage! Remember last year, when I was denied admittance to the massage tent because I had only run 23 miles as part of a relay team, instead of being an official marathoner? Well, after 34 miles of (mostly) official marathoning under my belt for the day, this massage felt amazing.


Perhaps the feeling was mutual – was I accidentally giving off some kind of vibe? - because my massage therapist told me I had “well-trained legs”, with very nice muscle tone. Then she gave me her card and told me to call her sometime. I’m pretty sure she meant for a massage.

Regardless, I had exactly the kind of morning I hoped for: a big mileage day, and a memorable run on one of the most beautiful roads in the world during one of the greatest endurance events in the country, in a manner that didn’t leave me completely debilitated. This week it’s back to training as usual, and my attention turns fully back to preparations for Western States at the end of June.

I’ve been fortunate enough to run this course more than a dozen times – and each time, I’m completely inspired by what a wonderful event we have right here in my backyard, and grateful for all the experiences I’ve enjoyed here over the years. I don’t think that Big Sur will ever be on my “must do” list again, but it will always have a special place in my heart.

Whether I’m racing or just cruising along, whether I’m gunning for a PR or just shooting a lot of pictures, any day that I can spend at the Big Sur Marathon is a beautiful day indeed.

**

U2, “Beautiful Day” (click to play)

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