Lights in the Desert

I spent much of October training for the Joshua Tree Half Marathon. Didn't feel like repeating the horrors of the Ventura Half earlier this year. No siree. I survived that race only because it was mostly downhill. The same cannot be said for the Joshua Tree Half. Hills, dirt roads, wind, and sand. Lots of sand. It would be like running on the beach in some parts. And, just for the fun of it, the whole thing would take place at night. This ain't the kind of race you can just hop on in and hope for the best. If I was gonna do well, I was gonna have to train. 

I sidelined a lot of excursions into the local wilds in favor of training. Hiking and running do not correlate at all. I've realized this time and time again in the past. So instead of going on hikes, I went on a whole bunch of runs. Got back into the running groove. It's been a while since I've ran consistently. Felt like my old high school days.  

I had ran this very same race five years ago in 2019. I was in much better shape then, coming off of a track season and three years of consistent running. It was my first half marathon and it nearly destroyed me. Swore I'd never run it again. But here I was, five years later, doing it again. Why? Don't know. Five years has a funny way of washing away the memory of certain things. And I've always had this lingering feeling that I could do better if given a second attempt. I guess that was enough motivation for me to sign up. And so I did. 

Race day arrived a lot faster than expected. It always seemed so distant and then—WHAM—it was there. We left on the morning of the 2nd, headed down through the Inland Empire, out through Indio, toward Twentynine Palms, into the middle of the desert. Grace and McKenna were running this race as well. Why they decided to choose this race as their first half is beyond me. Them's must be crazy. Could've ran the Ventura Half, the M2B Half, but no, they chose to run one of the hardest races I know. 

The summit of Mt. San Jacinto was obscured in clouds. It had been cloudy most of the day, but as soon as we entered the desert they disappeared, like they were being held back by a giant invisible forcefield. The clouds on the summit of San Jacinto looked like a gargantuan sombrero. Looking at that mountain rising 10,000ft from the desert floor, I began to wonder if anyone was attempting the summit. If there was any time to attempt the famous cactus-to-clouds death march, November 2nd would've been the day to do it. Cactus on the desert floor. Clouds on the summit. A literal cactus-to-clouds hike. Couldn't have it any other way. 

We arrived at the expo, got our bibs, and then wandered around for a bit, taking in the sights and smells. We had a little less than two hours to kill before the race began, so we took our time soaking in the surroundings. There were hundreds of people afoot, all scurrying around, some stretching, some warming up, some eating pizza, some drinking coffee. There were men wearing ballerina tutu's, women in glitter and glow sticks, people outfitted with various packs and bladders and gear and whatchamacallits. Some people were in the zone. Some were not. All kinds of people were running this race, from the very young to the very old. 

The desert is like a magnet for eccentricity. And this expo was ground zero. There were all these art installations, couches, fires for roasting marshmallows. Wooden huts, fences, alcoves, and big empty structures in the shape of suppositories lined the exterior of the expo, keeping it all together like a funky desert town out of a western novel. We poked around some of these oddly shaped structures, one of them painted with a rainbow, another painted with some constellations on the interior. The stars themselves were actually holes punched through the metal, letting the rays of the setting sun pass right on through. 

After exploring the expo and dealing with some pre-race shizzles, we warmed up together, stretched, and then headed toward the start. It was beginning to dawn on McKenna and Grace that they were about to run 13.1 miles in the dark. Yup, it was happening. It was inevitable. And it was exciting. Spirits seemed to be very high. Any sign of fear or dread were well hidden. The air was electric as people made their way through the corral to the start. Everyone was excited. The race was about to begin. 

It was a waved start, broken up in groups separated by expected finish time. Slower folks in the back, speed demons up front. Grace, McKenna and I walked to our respective groups. The sun had set, casting a fiery glow over the horizon. The wind had picked up, now blowing in steady gusts. It was a cold wind, one that stung the eyes and chilled the soul. People started bouncing around to keep warm. Others darted off into the desert to pee for just one last time. The race directer got on the speaker and said, "Everyone, can I have everyone's attention! Look at the people who are peeing! I want you all to point at the people who are peeing!" Everyone listened to him. We all pointed at the incontinent. They scurried back in shame.

I was positioned near the front of the pack. Fast, lean people with muscular legs and intimidating demeanors surrounded me. I was standing next to this one guy. Dude must have been 6'5". He had long, skinny legs, long skinny arms, long, luscious locks and a mustache that would make Steve Prefontaine proud. I determined there and then that he would win this race. I could just tell. The dude looked legit. He moved up to the front of the group and I never saw him again.

I chatted with this other guy for a bit. He had the physique of a runner, long legs, tall, headband, the whole nine yards. Said this was his first time running this course. I told him all of what I remembered from five years ago, and wished him luck. He too moved to the front. I bounced around, feeling like I had to pee. 

The race would begin any moment now. The race directer informed us in this first wave that if we wanted to make the podium it would be wise to start right up front. The top five spots were based off of gun time, not chip time, so it was best to start as close to the front as possible. I had no plans on being in the top five so I stayed near the middle of the pack. Five minutes later, and the race director counted us down. The crowd lurched forward. And then we were off. 

A surge of thirty to forty people sprinted forward, bounding down one of the only paved sections of the entire course. People were passing me left and right, but I kept it cool, trying to run behind groups to shelter myself from the wind. We made a right and entered the sand, beginning the climb of a mile long hill. We headed directly west, right into the remaining light still clinging to the horizon. 

The hill was not as bad as I remembered it. But it sure wasn't easy, ooh boy. We were running on a single-track dirt road. The sides of the road were all sand. People were running in the ruts, which were also sandy. And in the middle of the road was this especially sandy berm. Nobody was running on that. I picked people off, one by one, catching those who had gone out too fast. We were running into the wind, and the wind was starting to take its toll. I ran behind as many people as I could, drafting off of them. I ran behind this one big muscular guy in red. He ran like an ox, all power. But the wind sucked the life out of him and I soon had to pass him to keep pace. 

I hopped over the berm again and again, passing people left and right. The group had now strung out pretty thin, and I soon found myself running alone in the wind, gazing up the hill, observing the violent orange and red stains of dying sunlight in the sky. There were spectators on a hill, jumping up and down. I could only see their silhouettes; couldn't make out any faces. I turned on my headlamp. Crested the hill. And before I knew it, night had fallen. I could see the faint lights of the runners in front of me, looking like little stars in a sea of black.

I had managed to keep pace but the hill and the wind had really kicked my butt. My heart rate was way higher than it should've been. But I kept at it, running faster and faster each mile. I eventually caught up to headband guy, the one I'd talked to at the start. He told me good job, and then informed me that I was in sixth place. Told me to go catch fifth. I didn't really believe him. There was no way I'd passed almost everyone in that group of 30-40 people that surged in the beginning. But sure man, I'd catch up to "fifth." I could see him off yonder, the light from his headlamp bobbing up and down a good 300ft ahead. I passed headband guy and set off for my next target. 

I ran by aid stations, ran by cars heading down the road. Even ran by a house with goats and chickens and cows and stuff. Couldn't see them. But I could definitely smell them. And they sure made a hell of a lot of noise. But fifth place still kept the distance. He wasn't letting up. Wasn't getting any closer. At one point, I lost all sight of him. Thought he was gone for sure. But I saw his light again, wayyy off in the distance, still bobbing up and down. I didn't think I could catch him. Dude was moving pretty fast. But I kept at my pace, running consistently, trying not to roll my ankle every five seconds as it sunk into a hidden soft spot in the road. 

The next several miles became a game of cat and mouse. We hit the second paved section of the course and I let loose. I ran way faster than I should've, zooming down the pavement, trying to close the gap between me and fifth place. I got it down to about 100ft by the time we hit the sand again. He had noticed my light, had noticed my steps, had probably heard my labored breathing. He would surge forward for a bit, trying to lose me. But I stuck to it, matching his surges. I didn't let him widen the gap. I chased after him like a wolf after a deer, slowly wearing him down. The gap shortened to 75ft, then 70ft. And then he booked it, running at full steam. I couldn't keep up. I let him go. 

But it appeared that he couldn't keep it up either. He started visiting the aid stations, slowing down to grab some electrolytes. Every time he slowed down was an opportunity to close the gap. He was wearing down. His pace was slowing. I closed the gap to 50ft. Then 25ft. And then it stayed like that for a long time, the both of us running the same pace, neither one of us loosing or gaining any ground. 

We hit some more hills. Both of us slowed down. The wind had kicked up even more, blowing in our faces, chilling us to the bone. He started to surge again, running in short sprints to lose me, but I held on. Finally, after a little over seven miles of head games, I caught up to him. We ran side by side. We stumbled in the ruts, trying to keep our respective forms steady. He looked over at me and said "good job." I grunted, too out of breath to reply, and performed a surge of my own. I opened a 10ft gap between us. Then 20ft. I started losing him. I could see strobe lights in the distance, marking the location of the finish line. The stars were shining bright overhead, the constellations in full force. I had a little over a mile and a half to go. We were in the end game now.

The last mile was mostly downhill, all of it in sand. I nearly tumbled head over heels at one point, briefly losing my footing while stumbling down that goofy hill. And to make things even better, that dude I'd just passed was catching up to me. He had something in reserve, a second wind. And he was closing the gap. FAST. I accelerated to mach speed, zooming down the hill, a dull panic overtaking me. Well, well, well. Looks like I was the deer now. 

I rounded a corner, running on the outskirts of the race expo. The finish was close; I was nearly there. All of a sudden I saw another headlamp no more than 25ft in front of me. It was another runner. I started to kick. Used up whatever I had left in the tank. I caught up to the guy right at mile 13, a lean dude in split-leg shorts and a running tank. He managed to squeak out a "good job" as I passed him. Wow. Everyone had been so polite on this course!

I entered the final chute. I heard the race director. Said, "I see someone coming. I see a headlamp bobbing out there. I see TWO headlamps bobbing out there." The guy was right behind me. I wasn't gonna let him pass. I dug deep, found something I didn't know I had, and sprinted down the chute. I wasn't gonna let him catch me. I dashed across the finish line in a haze, barely cogent enough to hear the race directer say something about "fourth place. " Mustache guy was leaning on a fence. I could just tell that he'd won the thing. He had the air of a winner. And as it turns out, I later learned that he not only won the race, but shattered the course record in the process. Told you he was legit. I walked over to him and he gave me a low five and a "good job." That was the fourth "good job" of the night. And then my mom came over and said I'd placed fourth. And not only that, but I'd beaten my previous time by over five minutes. 

Whelp, I guess all that training paid off. Other runners streamed across the finish. McKenna zoomed down the chute, finishing in a very respectable time and medaling in her age group. Grace finished a little later, finishing the race a full 20 minutes faster than she'd expected. We attended the awards ceremony, took some pictures, and then drove all the way back home, stopping at In-N-Out along the way. 

Something must have been in the air that night 'cause all of us did very well. But it came at a cost, at least for me. Sure I beat my time and ran one of the best races of my life, but it came with a price. Got the WORST CHAFING I've ever had in my ENTIRE LIFE. And I'll leave it at that; I will spare the details. Never gonna run in those shorts again, I can tell you that much!