With moderate loneliness and feeling of purposelessness creeping in and out, I spontaneously considered, to distract myself, participating in a 48-hour event, this time with the objective of running the entire race instead of ending at a specific distance like in April 2017. This plan was unsurprisingly thwarted after prayers, but I was still eager to run a race this weekend to make the most of this rare cool weather in Georgia this time of year. I registered for the Halloween-themed Running Scared 13K, taking place on October 17, 2020, in Dawsonville, only the day before, justifying, “I would run tomorrow anyway. Why not make it a race?”

Individual starts due to COVID-19!

Getting lost has recently become my primary concern in smaller races in which I normally spend a large portion of running alone; therefore, I repeatedly attempted to study the organizer’s course map, which did not help due to the missing of arrows, play option, and any details. Prior to the start, I spoke to multiple people who have been lost here in the past, which worried me even more. This nightmare materialized during the first loop of two, which became especially frustrating because I had been maintaining a swift pace, for me, with an 8:13 first mile. In the middle of mile 3, following the completion of the two extra legs that 13K runners had to complete for each lap, I correctly turned left toward the way I came out to complete these legs. However, when I saw two sets of cones dividing that area and many runners on the other side, I wondered if I was supposed to turn earlier. One lady beside me also running in the 13K did not know either, and I proceeded to ask those nearby, none of whom were signed up for the 13K. Although I was going the right way, I, with the lady, turned around and returned to where the confusion began and asked the young volunteers, who gave different answers. Misinterpreting one of them, I ended up moving likely an additional quarter of a mile, even having to stop for a few seconds, before deciding I had no choice but to return to the route I initially went; the lady wisely did this much sooner than I. Only when approaching the end of the first loop a mile and a half later did I realize I had been running on course the entire time and the puzzlement really stemmed from the lack of 13K participants and the discrepancy in speed among the few of us. Coincidentally, I had a dream a few days earlier of getting lost and frustrated in a running event, almost in this exact scenario.

Other than this mishap costing my race two or three minutes, with my official finish time reading 1:11:42, nothing consequential occurred as a result; the runner who finished one place ahead of me would have easily finished before I regardless, and I caught up to and passed every runner who had passed me while I was panicking and even cussing. One older gentleman and the lady temporarily lost with me both expressed their surprise in my not slowing down in spite of this debacle. Who knows? Maybe this fiasco pumped up my adrenaline and made me run faster than I would have for the remaining miles. How fitting of the event name, as I was quite literally running scared in the short period I thought I could have blown the race. Furthermore, thanks to the unusually cool morning, I had no issue lasting all of ~8.2 miles without a single sip of fluid, thanks to no aid station. I will not brag about my gold in my age group of 30-34 considering I was the sole runner in the category, but nobody needs to know that. 😉

PC: IWeLife

When I participated in the recent half marathon on Labor Day, I already had in mind to follow that up only six days following, on September 13, 2020, with another 13.1-miler in the Tear Drop Half Marathon, where participants take off at the peak of Fort Mountain and descend to Chatsworth City Park. Based on the elevation chart that displays significant downhill running, I assumed the course to be designed for smashing personal records, even though I did not anticipate setting a personal best myself in 80-degree heat; nevertheless, the first four miles that required runners to go down and climb back up rapidly sapped my endurance, in the climbing, as I stubbornly refused to even contemplate a walking break. Just in this early stage opened up an immense gap between those accustomed to intense hills and those not as much. Once I overcame this hurdle, the next seven miles led a steep drop to town, where I quickly recovered from the earlier exhausting miles and let gravity take over while hoping my joints stayed sturdy enough to maintain the rapid speed increase. Made aware of another major hike toward the end by a veteran ultrarunner I know who has run this race in the past, I anxiously waited until I came face-to-face with this giant with nearly a mile to go. While some walked, I kept my head down and carried on running, knowing the finish nigh.

She ran the Donut Dash Half Marathon too and won silver in her age group here!

What racing nonstop causes, haha.

I did not consider sub-2:00:00 a challenge and hoped to come relatively close to my PR, but I from the beginning, with the slower earlier miles from the lengthy climb, recognized the latter would be verging on impossible. I am semi-content with a 1:57:00.6 finish, albeit slightly upset about missing the 1:56 mark by that tiny of a margin. I acknowledge I may have lost a bit of my shorter-distance speed, but I also feel like blaming this on the summer heat and certainly tougher terrains than when I regularly raced in the Midwest. In the midst of these COVID-19 restrictions, I thank God I can continue to pursue at least one activity about which I am passionate.

I generally feel more pressure registering for a half marathon than a shorter ultramarathon, as for the former my finish time and progress matter. Due to the seemingly never-ending COVID-19 restrictions, until recently I had not been as active in racing as standard, and I posited my body to not be at its peak shape for a swift 13.1-miler. Upon arrival at the Labor Day Donut Dash Half Marathon, taking place at the eponymous date in 2020 in Cumming, Georgia, I asked the staff about the hilliness of the course, which one member confirmed without elaborating. Running with bib #333 felt fitting for my 33^rd half marathon, as one of them commented post-race.

The blonde lady to my right is a beast! PC: North Georgia Running Company

PC: North GA Running Co.

Still oblivious to the elevation gains and losses throughout, I had no choice but to go with the flow. Factoring in the heat that made its entrance only a few miles in, I felt relieved I remained on pace to easily finish under two hours for nearly the first half of the race. Then I met a vicious hill that resembled a ski slope and stretched for 0.3 mile. I refused to walk and continued running with an exaggerated arm motion, immediately draining a large portion of my endurance. I recovered this time and found my ideal pace again, but similar relentless hills never ceased to appear one after another, which forced me to change my goal to simply running the entire way, no matter the time, without a walking break. At a certain point, I stopped looking up but rather kept my head down, as I figured much of hill running to be psychological. I repeatedly thought of positive activities to do after, particularly receiving a foot massage, which boosted my morale.

PC: North Georgia Running Company

In most of my races, thanks to my perfectionism, getting lost or even inadvertently barely getting off track wins my primary concern. Especially when a running event includes countless cones, because I have witnessed and personally experienced how confusing they can be, I feel uneasy the entire way. Here, this perhaps irrational worry was justified, as I misinterpreted the cones twice. Around ten miles in, when I made a wide left turn, I moved all the way to the far right of the road and proceeded forward until a faster couple who made the same mistake earlier coming back from a turnaround directed me inward; apparently a car was coming my way. Likewise, on my way back, I redirected a slower couple making the same mistake. With about half a mile left, I made a sharp right turn and saw two minute tunnels (or paths) side by side, the farther one of which had laid out wide apart two cones and the nearer empty, and I took this to mean run through the two cones. As I entered, I saw a volunteer (or an employee) on the other side who calmly told me to just turn right when I exit. When I came out, seeing a sign of a right arrow on the other side, I realized I indeed had gone through the wrong one of the two and yelled, panicking, “Wait, what?” The volunteer again told me to just go through, after which I saw another runner coming out of the same false tunnel and looking confused. Although I probably only took between ten and twenty additional steps with these two minor mishaps, each felt so demoralizing and rapidly sapped my energy that I did not even bother trying to finish strong. I brought this up, how confusing some of these cone layouts could be, to some of the workers of the race, one of whom thanked me for the feedback.

All things considered, a 2:03:21 finish did not feel like a total failure, considering how mind-numbingly, both literally and figuratively, hilly the course ended up being, in the heat, contrary to my expectations when I signed up. If anything, this performance gave me confidence I still have that half-marathon speed that has consistently progressed prior to this pandemic. With the conclusion of my 60^th race since March 1, 2012, I have surpassed 1,000 miles in race mileage. I am still bewildered that I, who used to despise long-distance running more than anything, became someone who cannot imagine living without running. I thank Jesus for carrying me through this milestone without any serious injury.

Although I had planned on taking a respite from running following my recent six-hour race in the heat of ~110 degrees, I covered nowhere near the mileage I expected to and, with my body not needing much time to recover, sought to squeeze in another grinder that could justify a break. When I came across a spontaneous eight-hour event, Miles for Maria Crazy 8’s Night Run for Epilepsy, starting on August 8, 2020, at 8:00 PM from Etowah River Park in Canton, Georgia, I presumed the lack of sunlight would make the race conditions less severe and contacted the race director. He explained the casual setup of the event that was organized to finally gather the running family and celebrate after a long pause due to COVID-19, that the race would not be chip-timed. I immediately fretted how they would manage to accurately manually keep track of every 0.8-mile loop completed by all eight-hour and four-hour participants and decided not to take part, until I saw how respectfully and meticulously the race director replied to each of my questions, even offering me a 10% discount code. I changed my mind and registered, after prayers, of course.

Per CDC recommendations regarding the pandemic, the organizers added about a ten-second gap between every one or two runners. My turn came exactly one minute following the official start, so I had to keep in mind I had one minute less than what my GPS watch displayed to finish my final lap. Additionally, the race did not have a legitimate aid station, again for precautionary reasons; therefore, I relied on my own drinks and gels to fuel me through the night. This nighttime style suits me better than a typical early-morning style, as my insomnia hardly ever lets me fall asleep prior to 4:00 AM anyway. I could feel the presence of the heat and humidity in spite of the absence of sunlight for the vast majority of the race. My earlier Chick-fil-A meal would not digest quickly enough, and I fought an ongoing stomachache for the first three hours, hoping dearly I would not have to make a pit stop and discouraging me from consuming gels as frequently as I had planned. The continuing pain in my feet and frankly boredom of moving in the dark, hardly crossing anyone throughout, made me wonder at times why on Earth I put my body through this prolonged suffering time and time again, paying. I periodically prayed to God out loud for help and reminded myself all of this will come to an end soon, after which I can relax and celebrate. My body does not deal with heat as well as cold, and my struggle made me question if reaching 50K, a distance I could cover under 5:30:00 in the right weather on a course like this, would be in jeopardy. I set a simple goal of comfortably surpassing 50K by the end of 8 hours, whatever that distance may be. With about 45 minutes to go, I thought I could sufficiently cover two more loops; however, once I came back from the second, I saw I had time for one more if I hurried. Knowing this to be certainly my last, I decided to swiftly run the entire way while telling a four-hour runner waiting for her husband to finish, “I can’t believe I have this much energy left. Maybe I should have pushed harder.” Like I normally do, once crossing the start/finish flags, I decided to keep going slightly farther before returning to the tent to socialize and check my result, while my body continued to produce smoke as if I was turning Super Saiyan.

We are socially distanced!

I had no way to track how many loops I completed. I could have tried, but doing so for such a short loop for eight hours felt verging on impossible; thus, I trusted whatever the organizers gave me. The official result reads I covered 44 loops, resulting in 35.2 miles. Once I returned home, I checked my Garmin and followed up with the race director if he could check again, because I thought I may have not quite reached that number based on the Garmin map. He confirmed, by looking again at the tally sheets and tapes, that I did indeed complete 44 loops, reminding me Garmin does not work well on this course. I decided it wiser to trust the word and judgment of the race director over this machine, especially since I already brought up my observation and did my part in being honest, and accept this result. Regardless, my objective of comfortably surpassing the 50K mark was fulfilled, making this my seventh ultramarathon, not to mention finishing third male overall. I am content. Thank You, Jesus!

After several months of hiatus from running events, thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic that forced most to be canceled or postponed, I felt desperate to squeeze one major race in July to make up for lost time and give myself an excuse to finally take a respite from running for my right foot to hopefully completely heal. Following a few rounds of prayers, I decided on a six-hour race at the Barn Blazin’, taking place on July 19, 2020, in Salem, Alabama, and signed up in the final evening of registration just three days prior. The event would take the precaution of commencing in multiple heats, each about a minute apart, amid the coronavirus concerns. I foolishly underestimated the unrelenting heat and humidity I would inevitably battle and remained oblivious to the course’s hills, tall grass, and lack of shades (as well as a venomous serpent some runners encountered and one of them courageously removed); I assumed the course to be entirely flat and comprise hard surfaces that would allow me to run smoothly and swiftly.

PC: Southern Singletrack Trail Series

I drove two hours to the event location the morning of on barely two hours of sleep and entered this literally and figuratively unchartered territory, my first time in Alabama and first time racing in this desert-like climate, determined to reach the ultramarathon distance; nevertheless, I realized this would be verging on impossible from the very first mile, as my legs immediately felt the tiring effect of the uneven trail, not to mention the feels-like temperature ready to rapidly hit nearly 110 degrees. A fellow runner mentioned this day to be the hottest day of the year for Alabama and the radio on my drive to the race warned of the day’s condition. The one-mile loop, actually longer based on the GPS watches of all participants, concludes with a lengthy uphill, and after the first three loops of nonstop running, I wondered why I wasted so much energy running up this hill when I could walk up slightly more slowly with significantly less effort. Once the heat struck its peak and refused to back down, I became concerned my body, especially my head, would react adversely; I do not believe I had ever been exposed to such vicious heat outdoors, and I set out to run and/or move for a quarter of a day in it. I was baffled and entertained simultaneously that oftentimes running provided wind and helped my body feel cooler than walking. I psychologically struggled the most in the first couple of hours but had confidence time would start flying the latter part of the race based on experience, which proved to be true. Perhaps sharing several loops with a fellow Christian lady and discussing various interesting topics with her contributed to this, keeping my mind off the physical exhaustion.

Awesome runners I interacted with throughout the six-hour adventure!

They sting!

Upon completing my thirteenth loop, I discovered the volunteers had iced Coke and Sprite in their cool box, just what I had been pining for for post-race, and I recklessly drank a can of one or the other during every one of the next five laps or so, after which the race director and volunteers cordially did not let me drink any more soda for the remainder because they thought that unwise. I consumed unfathomable amounts of fluids throughout the six hours but never felt the urge to use the bathroom, testament to just how profusely I sweated. My legs had much more to give, evident by my easily passing multiple participants whenever I decided to speed up, but overall I took the race considerably conservatively for fear of heat, which added chafes to parts of my body previously unfamiliar to chafing, painful to say the least. Both of my feet developed major blisters and subungual hematoma under several toenails from the mushy terrain and my fingers swelled to almost double their regular size, worrying me that maybe my face was equally bloated.

I completed 21 loops, 21.45 miles in 5:46:14 according to my Garmin, and both oddly and understandably I did not feel ashamed by this result, given the condition that would have made simply standing (or even sitting) challenging. Merely two out of sixteen six-hour participants crossed the loop finish a minimum of 26 times, implying 87.5% of the field did not even arrive at the marathon distance. As always, I thank Jesus for protecting me throughout yet another one of my foolhardy adventures.

Seeing Atlanta, Georgia, would welcome an unusually cool weather on April 10, 2020, and will return to hot and most likely hotter following, I, in spite of the lingering pain in my right foot and knee, decided to take advantage of this rarity and registered for the virtual Coronavirus Relief Half Marathon, hosted by Virtual Strides. I hesitated to run another virtual race but recognized nobody would have the option to participate in a normal running event for the foreseeable future and also wanted to complete a race exclusive to the current COVID-19 pandemic to look back on down the line. The creative finisher’s medal depicting the coronavirus, hand sanitizer, and toilet paper certainly enticed me. Above all, my most recent embarrassing virtual half-marathon performance last month did not sit well with me and I needed to redeem myself just to feed my ego.

This time, I fueled properly as I do in a regular race and mentally prepared certain routes in my notoriously hilly neighborhood so that I do not accidentally trap myself on solely relentless hills again. I found the major contrast just from these minor adjustments, plus the drop of 20 degrees in temperature, between these two virtual races amusing; physically, the first unexpectedly became one of my toughest half marathons to date, while today’s felt to be one of the smoothest and easiest, so much so that I was tempted to go far beyond what I signed up for. I hit 13.1 miles in 1:58:40, but just in case of the minor inaccuracy of my Garmin, like I do in every virtual race, I kept running and concluded the adventure at 13.54 miles, with an elevation gain of 676 feet, in 2:03:00.6. In a typical race setting, I expect to finish a half marathon around 1:50:00 or under, but running my first comfortably sub-2:00:00 13.1 miles in a run done alone without the help of adrenaline rush felt like a milestone, especially adding the aforementioned injuries that began bothering me four miles in.

Happy Good Friday! Sunday is coming!

To celebrate my 31^st birthday on March 14, 2020, I registered for the Montgomery Half Marathon, taking place in the eponymous city of Alabama. Two days later, participants received an ominous announcement email that the city mayor will determine whether or not the race will carry on the following morning at 9:30 AM CST, which he postponed another hour and a half just to announce his decision to cancel the event due to COVID-19. I became infuriated that he would halt an event of this magnitude that clearly involves numerous individuals booking hotels and traveling from afar on less than 20 hours’ notice instead of several days sooner, in which case I would not have signed up at the peak of registration price or booked a hotel.

Acknowledging asking for a refund to be an uphill battle, I became so upset I skipped lunch. A virtual race, which I do not enjoy, would have been the only sensible mitigation, but the event continued to ask entrants in a friendly humorous tone to simply “pinky promise” to run a 5K or half marathon in the next 30 days for the finisher’s medal, which did not sound legitimate. I emailed the race director directly, asking if he would allow me to run on Friday, March 13, 2020, from Atlanta, Georgia, after which I would send him photos of my Garmin statistics, selfie from the run, and registration information along with my mailing address for the company to mail my finisher’s medal and “SWAG.” I added I want to feel that I earned my finisher’s medal and this more formally sounding virtual race would help me more easily justify the hardware.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Once I had the race director’s approval, I immediately took off without much food or fluid in my system, not realizing the sudden spike of outdoor temperature into the 70s and my neighborhood’s abundance of rolling and extreme hills that normally exhaust me within four miles; I encountered hardly any flat part throughout the virtual race, and my pace predictably took a hit from the beginning. I even had to walk several times towards the end mainly going uphill, and I felt like I was mountain running. Because I did not presume such a drastic increase in temperature, I did not prepare sufficient water and ran out of hydration with five miles to go. (I initially thought about running without my hydration pack. Thank goodness I did not.) For a 1:47 half marathoner to take 2:27:31.8 to cover 13.46 miles, even with the elevation gain of 840 feet, I was both disappointed and humbled. (I always run farther in virtual races because I only have my Garmin, not as accurate as actual measuring, to confirm my distance.) Hopefully I will never have to run another virtual race.

As I often do, I signed up for a race at the last minute, two days prior to the event, this time Augusta University Half Marathon in Augusta, Georgia, on February 22, 2020. In a transition period in the state capital approximately 150 miles northwest, I wanted to make the most of the relatively free time I do not know I would have again once I land a new job. Following my recent 74.2-miler, I could not tell how much my body and speed had recovered, not to mention my left pinky toenail recently finally broke off; nevertheless, my latest casual run on rolling hills gave me confidence a large portion of my fitness had returned and prompted me to register.

At the Expo, a veteran suggested I tag the name of a fallen soldier on my back during the half marathon. I have a tremendous amount of respect for all active and former service members, but I wanted what I did to be intentional and not for show and apologized for not taking up on this. I decided to participate in this race for my enjoyment and was not willing to pretend I did so for a cause, which would appear admirable but be disingenuous.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The half marathoners toed the line in 28 degrees, and a lady wearing a jacket running her first 13.1 was perplexed I would dress so lightly, after which I warned her she may not enjoy the extra layer soon. No one knew the details of the course, as the organizers did not share an elevation chart. Some runners from the area said there should only be one minor hill, so I anticipated mostly flat and took off at a swift pace only to discover a one-mile climb on the fly beginning near mile 7, followed by a brief flat break and another steep climb. Just for that mile my pace slowed down drastically, but what goes up must come down and an equally lengthy downhill awaited. I let gravity take over and carry me down and went all out to compensate for the slow mile. My second half resulted in a major negative split, with my final full mile and the rest at a seven-minute-mile pace. Just past 11 miles lined up photos of fallen soldiers, United States flags, and volunteers, to whom I repeated, “Thank you.” The last person in the section seemed to remember me from the previous day as he pointed at me speaking to a veteran who had asked me to carry a name.

With so much of the unknown in terms of my recovery and the course, I had set low expectations; thus, I was elated to cross the finish line in 1:50:20 in my first race that started in 2020 (my recent ultra went into the New Year). Thank You, Jesus!

To distract myself from the inevitable loneliness of the holidays, I eyed a three-day race in Phoenix, Arizona; nevertheless, I do not participate in a race of this magnitude without God’s clear green light, and after praying about the matter with my faith mentor and mother for a week, we all concluded no, especially with the lingering injury in my right foot. I also came across a 24-hour race, requiring the runner to go around a 1.06-mile loop in either direction however many times he/she can (or wants to) within the time limit, in San Francisco, California, and after praying about this as well, I registered to take on this poetic challenge of finishing the last day of the previous decade and starting the first day of the new decade running at New Year’s One Day. Leading up to the race, I faced a multitude of obstacles—a major snowstorm that made driving out of central Nebraska hazardous, my first flight to Charlotte, North Carolina, being delayed 40 minutes with the layover time already being tight to begin with, and running across the Charlotte Douglas International Airport to barely catch my connecting flight—that I felt simply toeing the line would be a victory in itself.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

PC: Foggy Bay Photos

I cannot remember in recent times being this nervous before a running event, dwelling on this insane last-minute decision to run what should be the second-longest race of my life and not entirely understanding the state of my right foot. I atypically thankfully managed sufficient sleep and thus did not question my ability to stay awake all 24 hours. With the foot less than 100%, I could only keep the faith my Father would shield the injury; after the initial minor stinging and my praying over it, the foot no longer posed a risk and lost my attention. I planned to take my first break around what became my second-fastest 50K, of 6:19:15, when I felt the initial sign of fatigue. Whatever prompted this, I began singing worship songs I was listening to out loud, and all of a sudden my strength was renewed, allowing me to carry on thinking I would be a fool to snap this flow now. I took my first sitting break after 40 miles, just over 8:46:00, solely to conserve energy to last the entire race. I continued to converse with God and recite the many biblical verses I do every morning and felt such a physical presence of His being with me and providing for me that I said to myself I would stop complaining about the uncertainty of my future with this God, Who is interested in every minute detail of my life, for me and by my side.

50-mile split

Slightly past 50 miles, personal record of 12:07:35 in the distance, by an hour, I lied down for less than 30 minutes to give my feet well-deserved rest as my external battery charged my Garmin and iPhone. My body temperature predictably rapidly dropped and as I arose my legs started to feel heavier. The biggest struggle revealed itself between here and 100K, another personal best of under 17:30:00, by over 2.5 hours, likely psychological with this being my bare minimum goal. Once I secured that 100K+ buckle, I released pressure and thought more casually, “Now it is just about how much farther I can go than 100K before the end.” My feet and legs continued to lose power and gain pain, thanks majorly to the numerous blisters, and with several hours to go, I could not help but halt after only two loops. When I miscalculated in my head how fast I would have to move to reach 70 loops prior to 24 hours, I desperately sped up without a pause, not knowing I had more time than I thought. Crossing the timing mats for the 69^th time, I, already hallucinating, acknowledged most likely this next one would be my last. Towards the end of this final loop, I drastically slowed down to the point of almost dragging myself; although I had roughly 35 minutes to complete another loop, I had no confidence I could sufficiently do this before running out of time; a top female in the 12-hour race missed her final loop completion by eight seconds and consequently the entire loop did not count. I had already exceeded my expectations by a small margin, and I decided to conclude my race and wait for the official closure of the event.

Amazing and inspirational people!

70 laps, 74.2 miles, enough for bronze in my age group of 30-39, I converted this into kilometers for my family and close ones, most of whom more familiar with the metric system, which came to 119.413 kilometers. These wise people commented on the significance of both the numbers 119, Korea’s equivalent of 911 and that God rescued me, and 413, Philippians 4:13 to which I dearly hung on, that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” God not only rescued me here but rather even more so in my drive back following the awards ceremony from San Francisco to San Jose, with there never being a vehicle around each of the countless times I was struck by microsleeps, and past midnight from Omaha back to Kearney, where many lights turned into balloons and cars continued to dance and switch lanes in front of me. God will forever be my 119 and 413, and I thank Him for this entertaining reminder and the wise individuals who helped me interpret this. Thank You, Jesus!

This wraps up my most-active race year, which included a 74.2-miler, a 50K, a marathon, eight half marathons, and four 10K’s. Happy New Year, everyone!