Frank Wu's Staging Area

I have run the Baltimore 10 mile race twice. I would run it again. In the most recent iteration, 2023, the route was changed slightly because work at Lake Montebello. The course starts at the Baltimore Zoo. It heads to the perimeter of Johns Hopkins University. I went to college there, so I feel a bit of nostalgia that is among the attractions of entering this event.

The organizers are organized. They have ample porta potties. They give out wet towels at the end. I had forgotten my bib (actually, I had packed a bib for another race), and they took care of the issue with no fuss whatsoever.

I recommend the Star City Half Marathon. I rate it within the top five (of more than 175 halves to date) for the difficulty, due to the vertical gain up San Bruno Mountain (the others being the Double Dipsea, Mt. Montara, and Mt. Diablo, all in the San Francisco Bay Area; and Colorado races up Kendall Mountain, though I did shorter distances out there). My watches clocked this at about 2500 feet, give or take, which is considerable; I have done 3200 feet before, and that is about the maximum I would consider. This is in the village of Brisbane, nicknamed “Star City.” It is just fifteen minutes from home. They arrange for parking in nearby lots. The field is sparse, maybe 150.

Almost all the challenge of this race is the initial ascent. You head upward after one block, initially through an older residential neighborhood, then into the woods. Scaling the slope, which was blustery, I was reminded of when I was a in law school in Ann Arbor and a driver in a Yugo was blown off the Mackinac bridge to her death. I thought I would never make it. I was not the only one struggling.

I consume maybe one gel in a typical race. I had four on this occasion, including a vanilla flavored one which was vile but which I squeezed the last out of for the energy boost. I prefer the solid versions of the same sustenance, the chews.

The rest of the route was okay, with a long descent, some of it treacherous; a section through an area with a solar system model “to scale,” which means the planets are spread out vast distances; another section through a new subdivision development; and a final mile along a dirt road behind warehouses. The views are spectacular. I am spoiled running in San Francisco. You become accustomed to vistas suitable for a “destination race.” I didn’t even stop to look, which makes me a bad human being.

I got the volunteer at the end to laugh with me. This is how important context is to communication, since the literal words were hostile. At maybe mile 12.5, so minutes from the finish line, the path came to a fork, with one branch leading onward directly and another branch ascending a steep but short paved hill. The volunteer directed me up the latter. I said, oh, man, I don’t like you. It was obvious that was a joke about the final climb.

I was the last male, sixteen minutes ahead of the last female.

In every time travel movie, there is an enterprising individual who attempts to figure out what stocks to invest in or sports teams to bet on. Perhaps the most important function of a review site such as this is to offer this feature of science fiction to someone trying to decide: should I spend my time and money on this event? So I am writing as if this post were available to my former self, who was looking at this race weekend in Silverton, Colorado, put on by Aravaipa Running. I am combining a summary of the Saturday and Sunday races. To follow military memo format, bottom line up front: these are great races, destination races.

What former Frank was trying to figure out is whether this was even feasible, and, if so, at what distance. Here is the background. I have run more than 150 half marathons and another 30 races of other lengths, in about seven years (I started nine years ago as of this writing, had a break for a health concern and then the same time off as everyone due to the pandemic). My PR is 2:17 in the half. I am either the slowest runner or the fastest walker. I am always underprepared though. I’m serious but slow.

The main issue is altitude. Silverton is 9318 feet, proudly — there are signs for stores, such as the local dispensary, which list the elevation. I am a “lowlander.” I have spent time in the 5000-6000 feet, probably more than typical for a resident of sea level, due to an association with an institution in the high desert. I also have run at altitude, including in Colorado. I’ve done maybe five runs total, at altitudes from 3000 feet to 7000 feet.

So here is the most important thing I could say: yes, this is do-able. I plan to come again. I’ll try the longer distances. The location is beautiful, so much that words cannot do justice, not my writing anyway, and even photos do not communicate the majesty of the mountains and the clean air. But the thing is, you cannot treat this in the same manner you would a simple race in the neighborhood. Here is the best data point: I finished the 11k in the time it takes me to finish a half marathon on a normal day. It was, as detailed below, the toughest short race I have ever done. Given that my goal was to avoid death, I can claim success.

The problem with anything I say, however, is that you don’t know until you know, how your body will adjust to the altitude. I didn’t. Thus I took precautions: ibuprofen, Tums, oxygen canisters shipped to the AirBnB. Someone I work with shared a story of how she went skiing, didn’t appreciate the elevation issue (she was young), and passed out, falling into the lap of a stranger. I also didn’t have time to acclimatize. Either I am lucky or I have learned something: I felt fine. Now it is true I abstained from alcohol to prep, and my night between races I slept a good ten hours. But I did not feel ill. (My watch advises my VO2 max is above average, which I take not as indicating my healthiness but instead the very sorry state most 55 year old males must be in.)

On Saturday, I did the 8 miler. It was easy. The vertical gain was minor. My watch reported 400 feet or so, and I doubt it was that much. That comes to a total of less than 10,000 feet. The scenery was great. The running was primarily on a trail, I’m guessing an abandoned mining route, with a bit on the shoulder of a moderately busy road. We also passed through an RV park. For much of the time, we were alongside a creek, and it was about as idyllic as you would want. There was one point where you had to get your feet wet or make a 100 foot detour and climb a bit, to get over that waterway. My official time is off by an hour. I helped a woman who fell. We waited to the ambulance. It turned out she had broken her humerus. That is a risk with trails. This was not the worst. She was startled by an off terrain vehicle. They are prevalent in this region.

On Sunday, I downgraded from the 12 miler to the 11 kilometer. The vertical gain was about 1500 feet. That means we went to not quite 11,000 feet. This was not easy. It was 3/4 mile before any climb. So that meant it was about 1500 feet upward in about 2-1/4 miles. That is steep. It was unrelenting. I had to pause a half dozen times at the very end before the turnaround. It was like you read about mountain climbers, resting every few steps. I was breathing heavily the whole way, a raspy sound, even grunting. I have run big hills, including 3000 foot plus gains, but those were all starting off at zero. I cannot recall being so happy to reach the turnaround. Another participant about my pace was from Albuquerque, comparable to Denver, but she had never entered any race more than 5k, and she was not doing well; last I saw her, she was sitting on a rock and said she was nauseated. She actually said she was nauseous, which means to cause nausea, but it would have been inappropriate, downright rude, to have corrected her at that moment (and probably in general, since the dictionary states the incorrect usage has become standard). The downhill was much faster of course. But I was reluctant to go barreling along as I have done before. That was because of how technical the terrain was; I’d rate it the second most treacherous of races I have run. The other reason is while I did not suffer altitude sickness, I cannot report I was functioning as I would at home, so even on the descent I didn’t want to exert myself. I strolled.

My conclusion is Saturday was misleading. It was too easy. Sunday was what it is really like out there in these environs. I am glad I didn’t stick with the half marathon. I will come back to do it. I would need to train much more.

A few final notes. I flew into Durango. That is only 45 miles away, but 90 minutes, due to the curvy roads up and down. I drove at night. Some people might not be thrilled to do that because it is a thrill. It’s pitch black (no light pollution), in some instances near enough a cliff edge you can tell if you went over it would be very bad, and there are lots of deer. Silverton is a tiny town that is huge for outdoor activities. Many motorcyclists, hikers, and adventuresome folks passing through. It is worth a weekend of exploring. It is compact enough that in a weekend you could spend an hour in every single business and not fill the day.

This is at Lake Mead. I believe it is the largest artificial lake in the world. If not, it is very big. It was created when the Hoover Dam was built. For the construction, they also had to lay railroad track to transport material. That is what 80% of this race runs along.

I am glad I went. I’d go again. The reason is except for a loop at the beginning that is boring, the main part of the route has a spectacular view of the lake, with these steep and probably dangerous drop offs from the path on either side. There also are awe inspiring tunnels drilled through sheer rock face. So if you toppled into the gorge or down the slope to the lake, you probably could commit suicide or you’d at least be injured significantly. The risk is low, however, since the path is so wide, and you could catch yourself if you just slipped — to incur bodily harm, you’d have to be deliberate or very reckless. I wouldn’t ride a bicycle there as some were doing; that seems to involve too much potential for a collision and then careening over the edge. You also might not be thrilled if you have a fear of heights. I have run other places with an ocean or bay vista. This is the best lake scenery.

Two things. The parking is $25. The elevation is 2500 feet. So you need to know that. They accept credit cards at the booth. 2500 feet didn’t require any acclimitization (I don’t know how that is spelled), but I was much slower than I would be normally and somewhat short of breath (I’ve run at 5000 feet and even 6000 feet, and that burns your lungs).

This is highly recommended.

The Great Balloon Chase is a destination event. It coincides with the Albuquerque international balloon festival, and it is at high altitude (approximately a mile above sea level). Both of these aspects are defining features.

The balloon festival is apparently known around the world and a leading one if not the single most significant of these occasions, not that I know anything about ballooning. There are penguins and pigs and representatives of corporations and cities floating in the sky, which you don’t see every day or anywhere else. I can say I have never seen so many balloons ever, and it is impressive against the southwestern vista. The timing means many more folks are in town than usual. On the flight, you’ll hear people talking about balloons. Out and about, there are lots of chase vehicles all over.

The high altitude is the defining challenge. For lowlanders such as myself, this means huffing and puffing from the get go. Anyone not accustomed to being up at this level should acclimatize. I had two days. That is not enough. To put it into perspective, I ran a 2:35 the Sunday before. I felt great in the morning, much better than a week ago, with a full eight and a half hours of sleep, and I eked out a 2:51. I put in more effort too. I really felt the exertion in my lungs. My relative finish was terrific, my best post-pandemic. I was at the top of the bottom quartile.

That has to be taken with a caveat. I ran a quarter mile short. So I probably was closer to the top of the bottom quintile. But the point is the same: feeling pretty good, turning in a decent performance for me, I was still slow. Yet the crowd was very slow, with many from out of town and a good number of walkers.

It should be mentioned this venue also is desert. Hydration is crucial. That is always true. It is all the more so when it is as dry as this: my shoes were a bit moist due to a mishap the day before, and my running companion, who is a local, said not to worry; they’d dry out overnight. She was right. The temperatures were just about perfect. I started with a light jacket over my t-shirt, took it off at mile three and stashed it in my backpack. I had on light long pants by Under Armour, not shorts, but you could go either way with that and not regret it.

The route is an out and back. It traverses a field. A bit is along crowded roads. Most is along the Rio Grande. Thanks to global warming, it is sad looking in this area.

Back to the distance. We went through the finish the wrong way. That has to do with poor signage at the very end and a lack of volunteers.

My running companion was unimpressed by the organization. I have to agree with her that the bib pick up, at a sporting good store, was the slowest of more than 100 races. It was leisurely. That isn’t fatal.

Everyone was friendly and encouraging. So all in all, I recommend this race warmly. The word “unique” is not used properly in general. It means there is only one. This is unique. Nothing else occurs during a giant balloon festival (yes, there are races with a few, but you haven’t seen anything like this). Hundreds of balloons rising up as you take off is by itself a compelling reason to come out here.

This race made me think about the word “nice.” It has become a pejorative. What is nice isn’t well regarded. But that is what this event is, and that’s perfectly fine. The charm is of a small town on the East Coat. Everyone was friendly. There were enough porta potties. The weather was perfect, not yet quite “crisp.” It warmed up a bit, but not to the point of being hot. There were 300 participants. They had pacers to 2:40.

The route was mostly flat. It crossed a bridge shrouded in fog, which was literally cool and figuratively as well. If I were in the area, I’d run it again.

The bonus is a local seafood festival that occurs the same weekend. So if you like crab, you will enjoy a feast.

In every time travel movie, there is an enterprising individual who attempts to figure out what stocks to invest in or sports teams to bet on. Perhaps the most important function of a review site such as this is to offer this feature of science fiction to someone trying to decide: should I spend my time and money on this event? So I am writing as if this post were available to my former self, who was looking at this race weekend in Silverton, Colorado, put on by Aravaipa Running. I am combining a summary of the Saturday and Sunday races. To follow military memo format, bottom line up front: these are great races, destination races.

What former Frank was trying to figure out is whether this was even feasible, and, if so, at what distance. Here is the background. I have run more than 150 half marathons and another 30 races of other lengths, in about seven years (I started nine years ago as of this writing, had a break for a health concern and then the same time off as everyone due to the pandemic). My PR is 2:17 in the half. I am either the slowest runner or the fastest walker. I am always underprepared though. I’m serious but slow.

The main issue is altitude. Silverton is 9318 feet, proudly — there are signs for stores, such as the local dispensary, which list the elevation. I am a “lowlander.” I have spent time in the 5000-6000 feet, probably more than typical for a resident of sea level, due to an association with an institution in the high desert. I also have run at altitude, including in Colorado. I’ve done maybe five runs total, at altitudes from 3000 feet to 7000 feet.

So here is the most important thing I could say: yes, this is do-able. I plan to come again. I’ll try the longer distances. The location is beautiful, so much that words cannot do justice, not my writing anyway, and even photos do not communicate the majesty of the mountains and the clean air. But the thing is, you cannot treat this in the same manner you would a simple race in the neighborhood. Here is the best data point: I finished the 11k in the time it takes me to finish a half marathon on a normal day. It was, as detailed below, the toughest short race I have ever done. Given that my goal was to avoid death, I can claim success.

The problem with anything I say, however, is that you don’t know until you know, how your body will adjust to the altitude. I didn’t. Thus I took precautions: ibuprofen, Tums, oxygen canisters shipped to the AirBnB. Someone I work with shared a story of how she went skiing, didn’t appreciate the elevation issue (she was young), and passed out, falling into the lap of a stranger. I also didn’t have time to acclimatize. Either I am lucky or I have learned something: I felt fine. Now it is true I abstained from alcohol to prep, and my night between races I slept a good ten hours. But I did not feel ill. (My watch advises my VO2 max is above average, which I take not as indicating my healthiness but instead the very sorry state most 55 year old males must be in.)

On Saturday, I did the 8 miler. It was easy. The vertical gain was minor. My watch reported 400 feet or so, and I doubt it was that much. That comes to a total of less than 10,000 feet. The scenery was great. The running was primarily on a trail, I’m guessing an abandoned mining route, with a bit on the shoulder of a moderately busy road. We also passed through an RV park. For much of the time, we were alongside a creek, and it was about as idyllic as you would want. There was one point where you had to get your feet wet or make a 100 foot detour and climb a bit, to get over that waterway. My official time is off by an hour. I helped a woman who fell. We waited to the ambulance. It turned out she had broken her humerus. That is a risk with trails. This was not the worst. She was startled by an off terrain vehicle. They are prevalent in this region.

On Sunday, I downgraded from the 12 miler to the 11 kilometer. The vertical gain was about 1500 feet. That means we went to not quite 11,000 feet. This was not easy. It was 3/4 mile before any climb. So that meant it was about 1500 feet upward in about 2-1/4 miles. That is steep. It was unrelenting. I had to pause a half dozen times at the very end before the turnaround. It was like you read about mountain climbers, resting every few steps. I was breathing heavily the whole way, a raspy sound, even grunting. I have run big hills, including 3000 foot plus gains, but those were all starting off at zero. I cannot recall being so happy to reach the turnaround. Another participant about my pace was from Albuquerque, comparable to Denver, but she had never entered any race more than 5k, and she was not doing well; last I saw her, she was sitting on a rock and said she was nauseated. She actually said she was nauseous, which means to cause nausea, but it would have been inappropriate, downright rude, to have corrected her at that moment (and probably in general, since the dictionary states the incorrect usage has become standard). The downhill was much faster of course. But I was reluctant to go barreling along as I have done before. That was because of how technical the terrain was; I’d rate it the second most treacherous of races I have run. The other reason is while I did not suffer altitude sickness, I cannot report I was functioning as I would at home, so even on the descent I didn’t want to exert myself. I strolled.

My conclusion is Saturday was misleading. It was too easy. Sunday was what it is really like out there in these environs. I am glad I didn’t stick with the half marathon. I will come back to do it. I would need to train much more.

A few final notes. I flew into Durango. That is only 45 miles away, but 90 minutes, due to the curvy roads up and down. I drove at night. Some people might not be thrilled to do that because it is a thrill. It’s pitch black (no light pollution), in some instances near enough a cliff edge you can tell if you went over it would be very bad, and there are lots of deer. Silverton is a tiny town that is huge for outdoor activities. Many motorcyclists, hikers, and adventuresome folks passing through. It is worth a weekend of exploring. It is compact enough that in a weekend you could spend an hour in every single business and not fill the day.

This race made me wonder why we sign up for races. I mean that positively. I’ll explain.

This race is what it is advertised to be. It is not a giant event. It is capped at 25 runners for each event during the day. The organizers are two guys with clipboards, stopwatches, and a pallet of bottled water. They set up, runners show up, check in, are given instructions, and then are sent out there. I’m betting they don’t need or bother with a race permit. You’re out there like joggers, of which there were a number, and it’s casual.

Yet while I could simply have shown up on the pier, mapped out a route, and run it as a solitary activity, I know I — others might, but not I — would not do that. I am a run commuter, and an avid racer. But I rarely, indeed never, head out for a solo run for reacreation. So without an organized effort, my paying an entry fee, and the formality of being a competitor. I would not have had this exercise.

That is why I am indebted to these organizers. They are entreprenuers like any other race organizers. Their event is just not as fancy. I am glad I saw their website. I would race with them on another occasion. (Apparently they do this regularly. They have many other cities too.)

The race itself was four loops. I have done four loops before, including at venues I already know. I doubt I’d want to do more than four loops. But this was not someplace with which I was familiar, and there was enough variation that even without headphones I was not bored by the scenery at all.

The start point, which is in the middle, is Pier 45 in Manhattan. This is along the Hudson River. It was south to Pier 25, looping around it; north to Pier 51, which is developed and doesn’t have pedestrain access along the actual pier; back to Pier 46, looping around it; then looping Pier 45. Then repeating the big loop as described three times more, for four times total. My watch clocked it at just over 13.1, but that was with a tiny bit of cheating on my part on the last lap, when I went through part of Pier 25 that cut maybe 50 feet off, and also cut the corners on Pier 46, for another 100 feet savings. It was quite windy. The sun came out though.

I ran the Chinatown 10k. I ran a negative split. It is two loops. I was significantly faster the second go-aroind. I was listening to the Good Place television show, which is funny and probably resulted in me being slower. As I went through the Financial District, a woman, probably in her 60s, white, pushing a shopping cart with items other than groceries, i.e., likely homeless or otherwise troubled, was shouting. She was one of those people who shout at nobody specific, but non-stop. It was “Go home, you parasites!” over and over and over. Then it was “Go back to Golden Gate Park. You disrupted the bus service!” Then it was, “I can walk faster than you can run!” But mainly it was “Go homse, you parasites!” I am not sure if this was heckling or racist heckling. (The field for the Chinatown 10k is heavily, but not exclusively, Asian/Asian American, even for the San Francisco Bay Area.)

For people wondering about the race, it proceeds from Chinatown to the Embarcadero to the Financial District, back to Chinatown, then along a similar but not quite the same route. There are two hills that don’t even count by Bay Area standards. Lots of families, lots of children, and welcoming to all (no need to worry if you aren’t of Chinese background!).

This is a race I have to run. It was my first half marathon six years ago. The starting point is a mile from my house. For San Francisco, this route is about as flat as you’ll find: Golden Gate Park; along the Panhandle; down the Pacific Coast Highway with Ocean Beach right there.

It was enjoyable. But there was an issue that has not arisen the past five years, not that I recall. The wind was fierce. Beach sand was being blown with such force, it was as if you were receiving an exfoliation treatment. I put on my jacket, which I had taken off much earlier; I’ve never done that before. People without sunglasses had to cover their eyes. The birds were even having difficulty. Some took off and despite working their wings went nowhere. A few flew inland, away from food, but coasting on the current. I don’t know if this was an anomaly or a sign of extreme weather that will be our permanent future. I’m guessing everyone was affected. My time was not impressive. But it wasn’t bad, compared to my relative finish in a typical race (top of the bottom quarter).

At the end, I sprinted. I was fast enough the announcer called out, “Look at that Frank Wu go!”

This is an almost loop around the golf course at Hain’s Point, twice. It isn’t a full circle. It’s out, back, and again. It’s 2.5 miles each time, so 10 miles total. If you don’t know Hain’s Point, it used to be where that Awakening sculpture was, a giant hand emerging from the ground, but they moved it, so now people refer to it as where that formerly was located. I am not that familiar with the area, but there also is a public golf course, which meant the pro shop was open early (with restrooms and soft drinks). There also is sufficient parking, including right at the start/finish. The course is flat. It offers waterfront views, including of Reagan National Airport. By DC standards, it’s picturesque.

My time was back of the pack once again. That’s okay. It was the first race of the calendar year, and I improved 50 seconds over the last 10 miler, the last race of 2019, in St. Louis.

I’d run this again. It was casual, small, and easygoing. But there were fast runners. My relative finish is usually higher than it was here, meaning there weren’t really walkers on the course. (The wintertime date might deter the less serious, but thanks to climate change it was a balmy 65 degrees or so, and I believe later that day was record setting.)

Here is what you need to know. This is a trail race. It is in the woods, in the shade, mostly on single track, and it has one big hill. That means it is missing something you might be looking for: there is no grand vista, though there is a view that includes power lines and towers, which you see twice, sort of a sign of how modern life cuts through the wilderness. In my book, however, it makes up for it with the forest setting, which is about as isolated as you’d want though it comes close to the road a couple of times.

They advertise 2600 feet vertical gain. My watch, a Garmin Fenix 3, recorded only 2250. That’s not a quarrel with anyone or my device. Accuracy is not great out there — at least twice while I was looking at it, the mileage count backed up, and, probably not by coincidence, it was during an ascent or descent. Suffice it to say it’s not trivial. The incline is so long, however, it isn’t as brutal as some of the races in the San Francisco Bay Area.

The moral satisfying aspect (since it involves work and delayed gratification, so it comports in the old school sense with how a scold would want the world to work) is that you get probably five miles of descent in the back half. It isn’t too technical either. So you can really fly downward.

Then the last mile has a bump. The two other runners I was alternating with, one runs this park every Saturday and called it “rude” but warned us; the other complained about how terrible it was in a manner that inspired laughter and sympathy. But, yeah, the last mile goes back up, mildly, but definitely. So you’re thinking almost there and it’s a reminder of reality.

I believe I have run this race before, but I am not sure (Athlinks shows me at 106 races at this point; not a brag; just why I cannot keep track.) I know I have run out at this venue before. [Addendum: I checked. I ran it two years ago, 7 minutes faster. Still on the comeback trail.]

As for me, it was another lackluster morning. I wanted to beat 3:15, but I missed. I was at the top of the bottom tenth. Well, considering I did the 17 mile San Francisco urban hike on Monday (plus a half marathon and 10k that weekend), I’m fine with it. I will come back to this park.

Here is what people would like to know, unrelated to me. This venue has great views. It usually isn’t mentioned as a destination race. But it is. The Marin Headlands give you a perspective on the city of San Francisco, the Bay, the Pacific Ocean, and lots of varied scenery, including a horse stable. Some people traveled for this. So word is out. Even the least interesting parts were interesting relative to most places.

The route was muddy. That’s fine by me. It wasn’t the most muddy I’ve run. But it was soggy many places. These folks do a nighttime race in the same area. That also is highly recommended.

There are multiple routes though. This one had, I think, 2300 feet vertical gain as advertised. The other direction is harder, if you ask me. Some organizers claim a half marathon but it’s short (my watch measured 12.4), so these folks have it right. They are, by the way, pretty good. No complaints. They had hot food (one serving) and booze (no limit) at the finish line.

I beat my friend Ali by 45 minutes. That is the most important part. As an organizer said last time I was gloating, what are friends for if you can’t enjoy beating them? But as my wife said, don’t make the guy feel bad.

I stayed with the 2:20 pacer for three miles, then the 2:24 pacer for another mile. A police officer was killed recently, and her badge number was 224. An Asian American guy had his own sign to pace at 2:24. We were chatting. He gave me a fist bump. I said I had run 100 half marathons; he has run 78. Anyway, he was a friendly guy. I beat the 2:40 pacer. The 2:50 pacer was not good: she finished ahead of the 2:40 pacer, in probably 2:39. I ran a 2:35 and change. At the end, I was racing a fellow, Jim Lane, whose chip time was 1/2 second faster. We actually both sprinted the last quarter mile. The photographer perked up. I gave in six feet before the finish line. So he won. I probably don’t have enough drive at the end. I’m too willing to call it a day.

For other runners, here is what you want to know.

Right downtown. I stayed at the Hilton and walked. I left the hotel 7:30 for an 8:00 start, and I could have left 7:50. I had my bib.

Flat except for the ramp to a bridge at about 2.75 miles. That was maybe 25 feet of rise, max. So an easy course.

Family friendly. Lots of strollers.

Great vibe.

I have run out here at least a half dozen times. But the route varies. It is about 1700 feet vertical gain, give or take depending on exactly what they have plotted out. It’s just challenging enough. I did multiple races in the month prior, at least two with 50% more rise. So this was a nice break. Scenery is fine. Crowd is laid back. Not too technical; ideal for novices. Cool weather.

The marathon winner beat the record by almost 30 minutes! He whizzed by about a mile from the finish. Wow. People behind me were marveling. They were skeptical he could have been the marathon distance, because we were just coming within sight of the finish in half that.

These folks and friendly and well organized. It’s a husband and wife, it seems from the website. Their races are neither the smallest nor the biggest. They are just right. I like running with them.

I achieved another life goal. I was DFL, technically. But I was not last, actually. The cutoff was 3:45. They packed up the timing equipment after I crossed the finish line, but there were at least two others behind me, walking. The race organizer, a nice guy, decided they would be coming through only a long time later, and they had announced the 3:45. So it was fair.

I am not sure why I was so slow. The route was changed overnight. There was some sort of utility work. I passed a tree that was down, with a note that PG&E was coming out, and there was a tree you had to crawl under at one point. The route went from 2700 feet vertical gain to in excess of 3000 feet as measured by my Garmin watch.

I had never run this specific route. I ran a race in the park, a 10k, not long ago, and I might have run nearby one other time. But I had not expected such hills. There were three big ones. I’ve run bigger in the Bay Area, but never as slowly. Angel Island, Mt. Montana, San Bruno, for example, are all more challenging. And the Dipsea is in a bunch of different races, and just one loop on it is pretty tough.

I was well rested (7 hours 19 minutes sleep). I had had only a glass of wine the night before. The weather was perfect: not too hot; not too cold.

Well, it’s fine. I would run with these organizers again, and I’d run out at Tilden Park too. The race was small; the course was marked decently, but a lady and I went off course at maybe mile 10, and we did an extra half mile. We figured it out when we came to a fork without flags. It was our fault. There were flags; we had missed them, however, coming down a hill too fast. The two older fellows ahead of us reported at the end they got lost twice.

Oh, one explanation. The trail was not only hilly but also technical. There were lots of loose rocks all over, including big ones. So footing was a challenge lots of places. I did not fall. It was dry. I am sure it would have been terrible wet.

So if you’re headed out there, pick shoes with lugs. I need to get some more suited for this type of course. Suggestions welcomed.

An addendum. The preliminary results came via email. I am indeed 48 of 48. What is interesting is the winner was more than half my time. So I am okay with the relative standing. On trail races with big hills, I usually figure I will be 2x the winner. I actually beat that every so slightly.

This is a race organized by a charity trying to cure a disease; it is not anti-abortion, if you were wondering from the name.

It is set up well. It’s a moderately sized crowd, not a giant race and not a tiny one. Parking is not that difficult considering it’s near the Lincoln Memorial and reflecting pool of the national mall. I was there 45 minutes before the start, and I parked about 2 long blocks away.

The route takes you along the Potomac. Unless you run regularly in DC, you probably don’t know this area. I lived there 15 years, and I never traveled this path. It’s paved the whole way, with moderately interesting scenery. It is flat. Weather was perfect. Two aid stations.

I had run a 10k the day before, through the woods in the suburbs. My performance was my usual lackluster self: top of the bottom 1/6. The way it goes, you loop around folks a couple of times. I thought, wow, I’m doing great. Those folks are fast. And I’m ahead of them. Except I was behind them.

I’d run this again. It was a no-nonsense, no-fuss, very nice event.

Hi, folks. I am approaching 100 half marathons despite a one year break due to a health challenge. I had a 2:17 PR in the 13.1 distance before; this is my best finish since coming back (with about, I think 8 or 9 outings). So I am happy about that.

Let me start with the best aspect. The pacer for 2:40 was just great. She learned names and shouted them for encouragement. I am a run-walker. It was thanks to her help I did as well as I did. So I am grateful. Not easy to do that job. What a nice gal.

For those who aren’t from the Bay Area, Alameda is an island on the Oakland side. They say time forgot it, because it has a quaint 1950s vibe and half the buildings match (the other half are more modern). It’s an idealized suburb. You see a bit of that. I would say for a race through a town, it’s pretty good. You also see old shipyards. That’s interesting too — some haven’t been repurposed yet. There is the USS Hornet, a war ship that is a museum, at one of the turnarounds. I’ve run through cities and forests, but you don’t usually run through a town. Unless you are a grouch, the varied scenery should be worthwhile. (There is a weird parking lot of abandoned cars. I think it is an actual site for demolition derby type action.)

The other thing that was just great: parking. I arrived early. I did that two years ago. I parked one block from the start line, legally. That is about as close as was possible, and it made it so convenient.

They also changed the route. I don’t think it was because of me or anything. I had a minor complaint. That’s not even the right word. It was an observation about my own human failing. Maybe 2% of races have this feature, presumably to ensure the distance is correct, where you are coming toward the finish line, then it turns out you turn and you have to do another half mile, within sight of the celebration, and when you can hear it. It’s just a moment when I feel, oh, geez, I’m not done, and I’m crushed for that moment. Anyway, they didn’t have that doubling back. So I liked it better.

For some reason, they had a real nice gift: a glass carafe. I gave it to my wife.

I have run this thrice.

The big draw is ending up in the outfield of a baseball stadium. That was great. I enjoyed it. But it’s not the only reason to run.

Personally I’m not into destination races. I am lucky though. I live in San Francisco. So I have been over the Golden Gate Bridge and seen lots of great sights. There is a race every weekend someplace in the Bay Area. That spoils you.

This easily qualifies as a destination race. The swag is the Giants bobblehead. This year, it was the mascot, Lou Seal. That is worth it.

For San Francisco, this race qualifies as flat. There are three gentle rises. You see the Embarcadero, Fisherman’s Wharf, Crissy Field, the bridge, and of course the stadium. There are more than adequate aid stations, one serving a Clif Bars and goo blocks, with the wrapping pre-cut for convenience. The production values are top notch. They don’t advertise it, but there was as much music en route as for a Rock ‘n Roll.

The early start means an early finish. Parking is shockingly easy. I arrived 45 minutes before the gun. I was two blocks from the start line.

I like this club. I live in San Francisco. This club is in suburban Washington, D.C. I joined. My father (and brothers, but they are Foreign Service) live out there. I only run a couple of times per year with them. But they are so friendly I wanted to belong.

The prices make it worthwhile too, even if you only show up to a limited number of their events.

This goes along paved roads and paths, next to cornfields, and it’s a casual, mostly flat, reasonably fast course with many more people than I had expected. If I am around for one of their races, I will definitely enter.

I clicked 5k for this review, because they didn’t list the 10k on the pulldown menu.

I have run out here before, but with a different organizer. It is a family run historic farm, which they say is in actual operation. You go through pastures and a cornfield and alongside and into woods. I really like the change of scenery. There are gentle rises, but nothing significant.

It was hot, but that’s nature for you. Other than that, no complaints, and even that is just what makes reality more interesting than watching television.

There is ample parking on site. This is a moderately crowded race.

Easy and fun. Laidback crowd. Some mountain bikers. I had lackluster performance. I wrote a little blog at Huffington Post — I’m probably in the wrong, but I can’t say I appreciated the other runner yelling obscenities at me as she went by. Comments welcomed, including constructive criticism. See https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/the-moral-dilemma-of-the-cell-phone_us_59fe1a13e4b0d467d4c22587

This was my PR (to date). So I have only positive things to say.
It’s flat, which accounts for it being fast. I also had a personal pacer, someone I run with often who is much faster but nice to me. We finished with the exact same time.
Mass start. Bit of a wait for your turn. Not complaining; just noting.
I am spoiled by San Francisco. I can’t say I really am dazzled by the sights of San Jose. However, it is fine.
I probably will run this again.