HANLIN HE's Staging Area

Easy course with only a few very short uphill and finishing with a huge downhill to the arch! Start and end in downtown, with a loop going through the city and parks. A lot of runners! You never feel alone on course. The support is also very good.

This is not a flat, fast marathon. With a total elevation gain of about 635 meters, the course demands patience and strength. Long climbs and rolling hills are constant companions, and they add a layer of difficulty that requires smart pacing from the very beginning. Combine that with temperatures ranging from 24–30°C and humidity around 80%, and you have a race that tests both physical endurance and mental resilience. The heat and humidity are no joke — hydration and fueling strategies make a huge difference here.

One thing that helped was the weather on race day: although it was sunny, the direct sun exposure only lasted about an hour. Much of the time after sunrise, clouds rolled in and gave much-needed relief, which made the challenging conditions at least somewhat manageable.

Early in the course, running through the famous Tree Tunnel is breathtaking — the canopy of greenery creates a natural gateway that feels almost ceremonial for the runners.

The race organization is solid. From volunteers at aid stations to the locals cheering on the sidelines, you feel welcomed and encouraged the whole way. That warmth makes a tough course feel more rewarding.

This year, the Big Sur International Marathon finally returned to its legendary point-to-point course, starting from Big Sur Station and ending in Carmel. I had been looking forward to this iconic route since last year, but race day brought its own drama.

A steady drizzle fell before the start, and with little to no shelter at the starting area, most of us stood out in the rain, soaked and shivering. The first few kilometers wound through the lush mountains, and somewhere around the 7–8km mark, the rain stopped, just in time for the headwinds to begin.

At 16km, the real climb started: a grueling 3.5km uphill with a 7% average gradient. It was a brutal stretch that drained the legs and tested the mind. Just as we reached the famous Bixby Bridge, the rain returned. But there, in the mist and wind, stood the pianist, playing in the rain, just like every year. That moment was nothing short of magical.

Though the skies were gray and the ocean views more muted than on a sunny day, the cool weather turned out to be perfect for racing. Despite the hilly course and shifting conditions, I managed to set a new personal best—improving by over two minutes!

One small gripe: the official race shirt this year was a “Recovery” style—not the best quality. Last year’s version already had fraying sleeves, and this one doesn’t seem much better.

Still, nothing could take away from the spirit of this race—the wild beauty of Highway 1, the sound of waves and wind, and the deep sense of camaraderie. Big Sur never disappoints.

My first half marathon of the year—and naturally, after a full month of sunshine, race weekend brought wind and rain.

The first 10K through Golden Gate Park felt manageable. But once we left the park and hit the coast, everything changed. A brutal headwind came out of nowhere and made the next 4 km feel endless. That stretch nearly broke me, and I was just hanging on until the turnaround.

Not my smoothest race, but a solid start to the year.

A tropical getaway and a half marathon—turns out, I didn’t have to choose. The Hibiscus Half Marathon in Honolulu was the perfect blend of both.

The race started at sunrise, with the first half heading straight into the golden light of a Hawaiian morning. After the turnaround, we cruised back with the island trade winds at our backs. Everything about it felt just right—scenery, vibes, and energy.

That said, it had been a long time since I ran in such warm and humid conditions. Just jogging from my hotel to the start line left me drenched in sweat. During the race, I made sure to grab at least two cups of water at every aid station—hydration was survival.

I finished in just under two hours—not chasing a PR, just soaking in the moment. It ended up being the perfect preview for something I’m already looking forward to: the Honolulu Marathon in the future. Can’t wait to be back!

Five years later, I returned to the Surfer’s Path Half Marathon—a race I last ran in 2019, back when it was still called the Capitola Half. At the time, the “Surfer’s Path” name was reserved for the full marathon. Now, the full is gone, and the half gets the spotlight.

The name may have changed, but not much else has.
Same scenic coastal route.
Same medal design (almost).
And… same suspiciously short distance.

Back in 2019, my Garmin FR935 recorded 20.93 km. This year, my FR945 gave me 20.79 km. I pushed hard, ran what would’ve been a new half marathon PB—only to realize, once again, the course came up short. So close, yet not quite.

Let’s just say… the PB gets an asterisk.

I went into the Monterey Bay Half Marathon 2023 with one goal: break two hours. But sometimes, when you focus too hard on the clock, everything else fades. That’s exactly what happened.

From start to finish, it felt like a grind. I couldn’t relax, couldn’t find a rhythm, and definitely couldn’t enjoy the beautiful coastal scenery Monterey is known for. Fall in Monterey? Didn’t notice. Just one long tunnel vision effort toward the finish line.

In the end, I didn’t get the time I wanted—and I didn’t enjoy the run either. Double loss.

Also… I’ve been to Monterey way too many times this year. Might need a break until at least April. No offense, Monterey.

2019 marked my third consecutive Dallas Marathon—a quiet farewell to my student years and the city I had come to know so well. December in Dallas once again delivered cold, dry race conditions. After two winters of racing here, I was used to it and even welcomed the chill.

This race felt more reflective than competitive. By now, I was familiar with every stretch of the course. I wasn’t pushing for a personal best—I simply wanted to enjoy the run and take in the experience of closing this chapter of life.

What made 2019 extra special was realizing I had completed the Dallas Marathon Landmark Series. From 2017 to 2019, each year’s finisher medal had featured a different iconic Dallas landmark. It hadn’t been an intentional goal at first, but finishing all three felt unexpectedly meaningful.

San Francisco Marathon 2019 was a race I won’t forget—not because it was my first time running across the Golden Gate Bridge, but because it reminded me why that moment never gets old. No matter how many times I’ve been up there, stepping onto the bridge during a race is always powerful. The fog, the views, the energy—it all hits you at once.

The first half of the course was genuinely amazing. Between the early miles on the bridge and the peaceful stretches through Golden Gate Park, it felt like the best parts of the city were laid out just for us.

But once the course moved back into the city and industrial areas in the second half, the magic faded a bit. The later miles felt long and less inspiring—but that’s San Francisco for you: dramatic highs, and some gritty miles to balance it out.

Still, I’m glad I did it. The bridge alone made the race worth it. And any day you get to run through SF is a good day.

2018 was bitterly cold—probably the coldest race I’ve ever run. I remember hesitating at the start, wondering whether to ditch my windbreaker. I didn’t—and I ended up wearing it for the entire marathon, which says a lot about the weather.

The White Rock Lake loop was especially tough this year. With little wind protection and almost no crowd support around the lake, that long stretch felt endless. But I knew the course better this time, and that gave me some mental edge.

2017 was my first time running the Dallas Marathon—and also my first winter race. Coming from a warmer climate, I was a bit surprised by how cold December could be in Texas. Race morning was brisk, but once the crowd started moving, the energy helped warm me up.

What stood out most that year was the long loop around White Rock Lake. It’s the part of the course that sets the full marathon apart from the half, and it was both beautiful and mentally challenging. The lake was peaceful, the air crisp, and the miles seemed to stretch endlessly. But that quiet stretch gave me time to focus and really settle into the race.

As a student living in Dallas, it felt meaningful to race through the city I was starting to call home. It wasn’t a perfect race, but it left a deep impression—and made me want to come back the next year.