(And what | learned from it.)

my fair share of races, all as part of a New Year’s resolution to start running

again. At the start of 2014, it had been five years since my last race, four of which were spent wondering, When will I get back in gear? So as the New Year came roaring in like a freight train, I decided it was time to answer with a fierce set of goals.

It seems that most people take resolutions with a grain of salt, and there is a slight chuckle as friends tell stories of their resolutions lasting only a week or two into January (or of never even starting them). For years on end, I was in the same boat, only I kept my failures to myself because, somewhere deep inside, I was ashamed. For whatever reason, 2014 was the year that I realized this and told myself I had no option other than to run. So with ample persistence, I saw my goals through to the bittersweet end, culminating in a 20:16:50 finish at the Rio Del Lago 100-mile on November 8. This was my first hundred and the ultimate arrival of the new me. After 10 short months, I went from not running at all to being in the best shape of my life.

Days after my first 100-mile race, I was able to reflect on and pick out the highlights from the most successful reentry year I could have imagined. Rio Del Lago is an obvious standout, but I must say that everything about it was as you would expect: long, grueling, and packed with soaring highs and grinding lows. In short, my first hundred went as planned, so I will spare you the details. The one event, however, that stands out as different from any other run I have done is the one that forced me out of my comfort zone in not just a physical and mental way but a social one as well. This was the Worth the Hurt Ultramarathon—a double running of the San Francisco Marathon.

The way the Worth the Hurt works is that its participants show up a little before midnight on race day to run one full marathon through the streets of San Francisco (trekking a slight variation of the official course in reverse). This is done

S AN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, July 26-27, 2014—In the past year, I have run

Tyler sporting his Worth the Hurt
shirt at the start of his first 100.

with very little assistance: the route is not marked or closed off, there are three aid stations, and runners must navigate through city traffic, including hordes of drunken people wandering about shortly before the bars close. Upon completion of the first marathon, runners then wait until 5:30 a.M. to begin their second loop with the tens of thousands of other runners in the San Francisco Marathon.

As if two marathons in one day

weren’t enough, the race organizers require each participant to raise at least $1,000 for charity. This element of giving back is what ultimately sold me on the event. With the ever-increasing amount of running I was doing, I began to notice a sense of emptiness, especially during long runs. At times, I couldn’t help feeling that I was neglecting other things in my life, especially personal relationships. The Worth the Hurt double gave me an opportunity to turn these negative feelings into positive ones, uniting my running with those closest to me. Furthermore, the event brought me a sense of purpose, which until then had been somewhat nonexistent. Anyway, here’s how the race went.

Courtesy of Tyler Hill

Should | be sleeping?

At about 2:00 p.m. on Saturday, July 26, I met my friend and a fellow runner to watch 22 Jump Street at a theater nearby. This was merely a distraction from the fact that in 10 hours I would be attempting to run farther than I had ever run before and doing so throughout the night and early into the next morning. I had never tried to run without sleep, but this was one of the many aspects that attracted me to the event (as sleep deprivation is one of ultrarunners’ many foes). Channing and Jonah did their job and for a brief two hours, I got lost in laughter and forgot all about the challenge ahead. But as I returned home, reality quickly set in. Not really knowing what else to do, I did the sensible thing and lay in bed and watched a series of running documentaries, including Unbreakable.

<@ Minutes before embarking on the first of two marathons in San Francisco.

I spent the next five hours resting, but not sleeping. I was just too giddy to nap. Even though I was unsure about how lack of sleep would affect me, I decided it was best not to waste effort worrying about it or forcing myself to sleep. This tactic paid off. Around 10:00 p.M. I knew it was time to get going, so Late a quick bite, packed my pack, and began making my way down to the Muni stop with my girlfriend, who would see me off.

The San Francisco Marathon begins right in front of the Ferry Building on its iconic Embarcadero—a four-lane thoroughfare that runs along the city’s northern shore. The Bay Bridge sits directly in front of you, and at midnight, its dancing light display can be seen in full force. As I left the Embarcadero subway stop, I chuckled at the fact that, for once, I was the crazy person riding Muni, as

my race-day outfit attracted plenty of confused stares. Then it dawned on me: maybe I am crazy. Either way, craziness is in the eye of the beholder.

After leaving Muni, I walked up to the starting tent with my girlfriend and tried to enjoy the experience. As most ultrarunners do before a race, I pretended as if it were just another stroll in the park. For a quick second, while walking into the starting tent, I thought I was at some sort of underground rave, with everybody adorned in blinking lights, backpacks, and weird outfits. This was a different sort of party, however, and I bashfully stepped forward to introduce myself to the race officials.

All | need to do is follow the map

About an hour later, I found myself running past AT&T Park, making conversation with another San Franciscan who, like me, was wondering how it would be possible for the out-of-town runners to navigate this course in the dark. To be fair, the race organizers had sent out a couple of people on bikes to follow the first and last of the pack, but that obviously didn’t help everyone in the middle. My directions were printed on paper, and I had highlighted the turns on streets that I was

not familiar with. I had a general idea of where the course should go, so I figured that if I could follow that, I should be fine. The first few miles proved easy, and I knew exactly where I was. As I crossed the Third Street Bridge, with the San Francisco Bay below my feet and the Giants ballpark right behind me, I smiled. This is adventure, | thought, and how lucky am I to have experiences like this?

Somewhere around mile four, I made my first wrong turn. As we were leaving a small, somewhat unknown neighborhood called the Dogpatch, I forgot for a second that I needed to make a right on Indiana Street. By the time I realized my mistake, I was about three or four blocks past and too antsy to turn back. As an alternative, I turned and headed up Mississippi, which eventually would take me to 17th, where I could reconnect with the official course. Mississippi Street, however, headed straight up and over Potrero Hill, whereas Indiana Street was entirely flat. Despite having a generous 48 or so miles left to run, I still found it too unthinkable to turn around and retrace my steps. Ah, it’s funny the way our ultrarunning minds work sometimes.

Looking back, I realize that if I had made that wrong turn closer to the end of the race, I would have undoubtedly turned back to avoid the hill. Initially, the navigation difficulties bugged me, but soon that irritation turned to excitement. I thought back to the many trail runs I had done and how each of them was bountifully marked with pink ribbons and chalk arrows. It was fun to be running through the streets of San Francisco at midnight with no one to guide you other than yourself and fellow runners.

Dealing with a great deal of awesomeness

After the wrong-turn fiasco, we began making our way through the Mission and Haight districts, where we navigated through herds of inebriated young adults and speeding traffic. This section was fun because it was interesting to see the different reactions of the myriad 20- and 30-somethings as they watched us glide by. Inevitably, I got stopped at a light at the intersection of 16th and Guerrero; the curious stares came on strong. One young man finally stepped up and asked what we were doing out there, and as I explained, he looked back at me with a fierce stare. He paused before responding, and I didn’t know whether he wanted to punch me or vomit or whether sensible words would somehow pass his lips. He had that drunken glazed-over look in his eyes. To my luck, as if receiving some divine intervention, he muttered a sincere and hearty, ““That’s awesome.” After this interaction, I had about 15 seconds before the light changed to think about what he had said and realize that, Yeah, this is awesome; I’m awesome. If it weren’t for my New Year’s resolution, it would likely be me standing there with the bar crowd, enviously looking on as weirdos with flashing lights ran by. I could see it all in my head: the night would continue as I drunkenly made my way