How to Run a Half Marathon with No Training

I am not a runner. I also don't go to the gym. There are some people out there who possess the discipline and gumption to dedicate a few hours of their day to pain and misery. People who develop a routine, follow it, and get desired results. People who thrive off that endorphin rush and choke down that creatine and take pictures of their progress in the mirror. I am not one of these people. Setting a regimented training schedule and sticking to it is something I find extremely undesirable. I used to be a runner, but that was a long time ago. Since then I've ran off and on, but not to the extent to where I'd call myself a "runner." Usually, I'd run for a week to build up some cardio for a big hike. And as for strength training, a steep trail is much more preferred than a StairMaster. Yep, I am not a runner. What I am is an idiot.

I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. Running a half marathon with no training is up there with some of the stupidest. Sleep was scarce the night before the race. Woke up feeling like a crumpled $50 bill. Gobbled up some oatmeal with peanut butter and washed it down with a healthy amount of caffeinated tea. I don't normally drink caffeine but today was an exception. I imagined it would turn me into the Energizer Bunny.

I met up with Ry, who graciously decided to run the race with me and help with pacing. We parked near the start, got out, prepared for a warm-up, and then Ry realized he forgot his racing bib. Uh oh. Looked like we were gonna have to meet up with each other at the start.

As Ry burned rubber back to his place, I jogged down the road to the start line, the crisp morning air burning my hands and ears. Other runners were out and about, stretching, trotting, repeating actions that they'd likely been doing for months in preparation for the event at hand. I was able to get a few stretches in before the national anthem. After that, I kinda just bounced up and down, trying to activate the caffeine in my system. 

I met up with Ry and we positioned ourselves somewhere in the middle of the huge throng of runners. It was a wave start, so the race officials only let certain chunks of people go at a time. The race began, and the first wave was off. And then the second, then the third. Waves of folks kept on getting sucked through the corral, me and Ry stepping closer and closer to the inevitable. Three...two...one...and off we went, jogging down the road without ever looking back. 

Felt good the first couple of miles. Ry and I talked a lot, our conversations revolving around snippets of life stories, the future, and running. We were the only ones talking. Everyone else was locked in, not wanting anything to distract them. Too busy keeping track of their breathing and cadence and whatnot. Very serious. There were a few times, however, where our conversations grabbed the interest of other runners. There was this one guy, probably early 40's, who talked with us for a bit. Said he wanted to keep on running for as long as he was able. Said at least 38 more years. I thought of making a dumb joke that this race had an end and that he couldn't keep on running and that Forrest Gump only managed three years but I thought better and kept my mouth shut. 

As the miles progressed the rate of conversation declined, at least on my end. The race was sucking the loquaciousness out of my body. Carrying a conversation became more and more labored. Luckily, the caffeine was making its presence felt, but not without consequence. There was a strange storm brewing within. Felt it around mile 4. Thought I could control it. Thought I could suppress it. But it kept getting worse. A few miles later and this storm was about to make landfall. I shifted gears and went full throttle down the course, Ry remarking that we had significantly increased our pace. We made it to the aid station, I zooming past the volunteers and water straight to the portable toilets. The first one I nabbed was locked, the second was not. I opened it up and saw that the seat had a nice glaze of sweat. Didn't care. I weathered the storm. 

Feeling much better and much lighter, I caught up to Ry and we continued on our way. We were catching people left and right, passing those who probably went out too fast in the beginning. I tried passing someone on the right and nearly ran into them; they were not too happy about that. Oh well. Can't have a race good race without a little bit of drama. 

Everything was going swell until around mile 10. At this point I was practically nonverbal, only able to utter a few words. My legs were telling my brain that they'd had enough, that they didn't understand why my brain woke up one morning and made them run so far for so long for no reason. They were beginning to lock up, and keeping them going was progressively becoming more excruciating. 

Ry kept a good pace, offering much needed motivation. We tried catching up to this one dude, but he kept on trucking, refusing to let us pass. We'd run right up to him and push the pace, and then he'd push back. Since we were running neck and neck for a while, him and Ry eventually broke into conversation. I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying. Too busy trying not to puke. Seemed like my legs had made a deal with my stomach to get me to stop. Sly fellows those two are. 

I heard that the dude was a carpenter and that he was running much faster than he had planned and that was about all I picked up from the conversation. I slowed down at an aid station to grab some water and that was that—we were never able to catch him again. From then on my pace kept slowing, our splits no longer negative. Ry kept on motivating me, offering uplifting words of encouragement. I now could barely talk, let alone whisper. All of the energy in my body had evaporated, I felt like a hollow shell. 

By some miracle we caught up to one of the official pacing groups, and not too long after, they made an announcement that I'd been waiting to hear all day: "Ok guys, break away, break away! One mile to go, you got this!" The group fractured, some sticking behind and others finding another gear and zipping on towards the finish. Ry and I slowly broke away, I unable to find any gear that could propel me out of this misery. 

That last mile actually went by pretty quick. Kinda just turned off my brain and trudged along, making sure I never widened the gap between me and Ry. If it wasn't for him and his rallying words of encouragement I probably would have stopped. We rounded a corner and entered the home stretch, the booming screeches of onlookers motivating the runners to the finish line. Ry picked up the pace, I tried to stay with him, and before I knew it we were both across the finish line. 

I kept going. If I stopped I was sure that my legs would give out. They needed to cool down a bit. I jogged a bit past the finish line up the street and then jogged back, meeting up with Ry. We then walked for a little bit, observing all the other folks who were either stretching or massaging their legs or just laying there pale and motionless, hands over their eyes wheezing. 

I don't think I'll ever do something like that again. It was really stupid. But also interesting. Learned a few things about myself that I would have never learned otherwise. It was a good time. One for the memory books. One thing's for sure: I ain't never drinking caffeine before a race again!

Potrero John Falls, The Upper Sespe, and a "Secret" Campsite

Got a late start to the day, not leaving the ol' homestead 'til just before noon. Weather was looking great, the surrounding land saturated and colorful after the recent rains. I breezed up the 33, not having to wait very long at any of the solar powered traffic lights. Remnants of snow clung to the backside of the Topa Topa ridge. The south faces of Reyes Peak and Haddock Mountain only possessed a smattering of white, most of the snow having retreated to areas more friendly to the cold and hidden from the sun's searing gaze. No one was parked at the turnout for the trailhead. Looked like I was gonna have the whole trail to myself. 

The trail moseyed along for a brief moment before leading to the first creek crossing. The creek was significantly higher than normal due to the rains. With some dexterity (and perhaps some ninja skills) you could cross it without getting so much as a drop of water on your shoes. Unfortunately, I possess no such skills. Got my feet wet pretty quickly. And they were to remain wet as I would have to cross the creek an additional 10+ times.

The trail is relatively short; it's about three miles from the turnout to the falls. But what it lacks in distance it makes up for in beauty. Hardy chaparral, scrub oak and budding deciduous flora line the trail, the steady hum of the rushing creek providing a relaxing ambience. After walking on this trail for no more than half a mile it felt like I had been transported deep into the woods, miles away from civilization. The farther you go, the more wild it seems. Sections of trail had turned into miniature streams, the water bubbling out of the ground taking the path of least resistance. There were a few footprints in the mud but they didn't look fresh. The trail was washed out in a few sections, evidence of the creek trying to restore this wilderness back to its natural state. And there was this nearly inaudible, whisper of a breeze that created this immense feeling of solitude. 

After crossing the creek a few times I reached the turn off point for Potrero John Camp. I would explore it on my way back for I had an objective to meet. The camp is tucked away in a sheltered location surrounded by trees that offer a lot of privacy. Upon inspection on my return, I discovered that it looked exactly as it did the last time I'd seen it four years ago. It's in great shape with a big ol' fire pit and many flat spots to pitch a tent. 

Potrero John Camp

The quality of the trail deteriorates rapidly after passing the camp. Very soon I reached a narrow tunnel of chaparral. Felt like I was traveling through a portal to another reality. When it spit me out on the other side it seemed like this was almost true. The canyon had narrowed slightly the farther I had gone, furthering the extreme sensation of solitude. It was almost eerie in a way—kind of felt like I was being watched. Not by animals or anything like that. Felt like I had the eyes of a zillion woodland critters and sprites and spirits fixated on my every move, judging my heavy steps and strange garb. The creek was loud, echoing off the sides of the canyon, but the oaks and the evergreens and the manzanita and the moss and lichen were dead silent. All of it made for quite a peculiar vibe.

If you've never been on this trail before and/or don't know exactly where it enters and exits the creek I recommend using a GPS. Most of the trail is in good shape; it's just a little hard to follow. Someone left pink flagging but this was few and far between. Either way, it ain't easy to get lost; all you gotta do is head up the creek. Some parts of the trail had disappeared entirely which left me no other option than to travel in the creek. Hanging left is a good move; most of the trail is on the left side of the canyon and it eventually leaves the creek (on the left) and continues just above it. 

Chaparral Tunnel

About a quarter of a mile south of the falls, I reached an unofficial campsite that rests in the shade of several oaks. This spot was way cooler than the established Potrero John Camp and its proximity to the falls makes it a primo location. 

A little ways past this camp the canyon narrows even more so, suggesting that a huge waterfall exists not to far away. It was also past this camp where the trail all but disappears. But no worry, it's obvious where to go. I rounded a corner and was met with a series of smaller waterfalls roaring across huge rocky slabs. I was getting close, the canyon now seemed to be narrowing to an impasse of some kind. I stuck to the left side of the canyon and before I knew it I got my first glimpse of this impasse: the glorious Potrero John Falls!

cool camp

I had never seen the falls like that and I will likely never see them that way again. Instead of a gentle flow or trickle, these falls were absolutely booming. All that rain turned these normally quiet and reserved falls into a force of nature. The water pouring over the top of these 50ft falls generated enough force to create a strong wind at the base, soaking the low lying shrubs with a steady mist. And my oh man were they loud—could barely hear myself think. I know this word has been overused to the point that it's lost all meaning, but seeing these falls was an awesome experience, in the truest sense. I couldn't help but sit there at the base in the mist, mouth agape, unable to take my eyes off the sublime majesty of cascading water. 

Potrero John Falls

A curious feeling of doing something really stupid seeped its way into my brain, so I decided to scale the falls to see what lay on the other side. I found a bit of a use trail that avoided dangerous scrambling, but it eventually disappeared and I was left side hilling it to the top of a crumbly slot that led down to the top of the main falls. Avoiding pointy yucca and other prickly vegetation, I carefully climbed down this chute and made it to the creek, the top of the falls just a few feet away. I'd never been up there before and it was definitely worth the climb, though it's something that my mom would not approve of. I hung around for a few minutes before slowly and safely climbing up out of the creek to the use trail and back to the base of the falls.

This 20ft waterfall behind the
main falls was a nice surprise

Top of the main falls

I spent a good half hour admiring the falls. Not wanting my eyes to be too gluttonous, I said my goodbyes and sped on down the trail. The way back went by much quicker than the way up, probably because it was slightly downhill. Figures. On my way back I saw the first person of the day, although I don't know if they saw me. They were down in the creek facing away from the trail, perhaps looking for the trail or maybe just vibing. Who knows. I didn't stop for chit-chat. A little while later I met a dude with his two dogs. We talked a little bit, both of us admiring the amount of water in the creek. We wished each other a pleasant walk and went on our separate ways. 

Section of trail converted to a stream

I got back to the car a lot quicker than I had anticipated so I decided to do some extra credit. I thought about this "secret" campsite that I found a few years ago after reading the hints from both Stillman and Christopher Lord's respective posts, diligently studying google earth until I figured out where it was. Hadn't seen it since 2021 and with the surplus of water from the rain I suspected that it would look pretty cool. So with nothing better to do, I set forth on my journey of revisiting this confidential camp.

In keeping with the tradition of writing about this camp, I will not reveal it's location. It's just one of those things that you gotta go out and find yourself. Plus, it wouldn't be a secret anymore if I tell yah where it is. What's the fun in that eh? 

The camp itself is flat and sandy, nestled underneath a rock overhang and protected from the elements. There are a few springs that seep out of this overhang, each one of them ringed with soft, emerald, mossy plants. I made it to the camp in good time and immediately noticed that there was a LOT more water than the last time I'd seen it. The falls near the west of the camp were flowing pretty good, something that was expected because of all the rain. What was not expected was this new waterfall that was spilling over the overhang. Never even knew there was a drainage up there. Looked a lot like Weeping Rock in Zion National Park, just a lot smaller and without all the tourists. The fire pit looked like it hadn't been used in a while and the footprints that I found were old and nearly worn away. Still looks like this spot doesn't get a lot of traffic. 

The "Secret" camp

Petroglyphs

I checked this spot off my to-do list for the day and made it back to the car without issue. I still had some daylight left, so I spent the remaining hours goofin' around the upper Sespe before callin' it a day and heading back down the 33. Like the falls I had seen earlier, the river was a lot bigger than normal—huge and swollen and moving and churnin' from the surplus of water, a pale green mass meandering down through boulders and canyons and deadfall. Found a few spots where there'd be some great swim holes once the river calms down a bit and the mud settles and the weather gets a little warmer. A swim in the river these days is a little too chilly for my taste. Gotta wait 'til spring. 

I enjoy low mileage days like these. They give yah a lot more time to explore and appreciate stuff. See things you wouldn't normally see. Find stuff you wouldn't normally find. Late start to the day, no pressure, nothing but the setting of the sun acting as a time limit. Good stuff, good stuff.