Chapter 1: The Build-Up to the Race

As I prepare for my first destination marathon, anticipation and anxiety mix within me, mirroring the towering redwoods surrounding me. With only ten minutes left until the race begins, I find myself caught in traffic instead of warming up. Clearly, the day's plans are unraveling.

The Avenue of the Giants in California's redwood region is where I will experience my inaugural destination marathon. For months, I have eagerly awaited this getaway with my running friends, excited to tackle the breathtaking course. But right now, my only focus is reaching the starting line just a mile away. As our vehicle inches forward, I decide to abandon it and run the rest of the way. After saying goodbye to my friends, whose races start later, I strap on my hydration vest and take off.

With each quickening step, I reluctantly acknowledge that today’s run will exceed the standard marathon distance of 26.2 miles, transforming my inaugural destination race into my first ultramarathon.

Historically, I have not strayed far for my races: Eight of my previous thirteen marathons occurred in my hometown of Oakland, while the remaining five were in Sacramento, just minutes away from my in-laws' home. Running familiar routes bolstered my confidence and allowed me to refine my training, gear selections, and race strategies. These experiences have shaped the plan that guides me to the finish line today.

When my friend Andy suggested we run the Avenue of the Giants together, I hesitated. This race would push me out of my geographical comfort zone and mark my third marathon in only five months—uncharted territory for me. However, with Andy traveling all the way from Scotland for this event, I couldn't shy away from a leisurely four-hour drive north. Moreover, after completing two marathons back-to-back, this would be an opportunity to loosen up and simply enjoy running. So I agreed; off to the redwoods we would go.

The trip begins smoothly, with Andy proving to be even more meticulous than I am. Accustomed to taking charge, I relax as he organizes transportation, accommodations, and meals for our group of six. On the drive, I sit back and enjoy the music and scenic views, feeling none of my usual pre-race jitters.

However, my sense of calm is soon disrupted when I search for my AirPods and find them missing. Running a marathon without music is unheard of for me; I depend on a carefully curated playlist to maintain my pace and motivate myself when fatigue sets in. I suspect I might have left them behind somewhere. Strike one.

Later, while trying to charge my Garmin, I discover that I packed the wrong power adapter. Racing without my watch would feel like running without clothes; I worry my performance will suffer without real-time feedback. Strike two.

Fortunately, both crises resolve: I eventually find my AirPods buried in my bag, and a friend lends me his charger. Yet, these incidents serve as reminders that I need to prepare with greater diligence.

Turning to my reliable playbook, I spend the night before the race attaching my bib securely to my shirt, ensuring the safety pins won't cause any chafing. I set out my gear and post-race bag for easy access in the morning. After enjoying a hearty pasta dinner, I turn in early, knowing that a good night's sleep is vital for my performance.

Upon waking the next day, I feel refreshed, and so does my Garmin. The weather appears favorable: the rain has ceased, and temperatures are projected to reach 50°F by mid-morning.

After loading my gear into the car, I take a moment to gaze at the towering trees around me. The coastal redwoods, soaring over 300 feet high, are the tallest living beings on our planet. I take a brief moment to appreciate their grandeur.

We leave an hour before the race is scheduled to begin, believing this will give us plenty of time. However, just five minutes into our drive, I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.

My hydration vest, complete with my energy gels, remains behind, forgotten on the chair at the cabin. In my preoccupied state while loading the trunk, I overlooked this crucial item. There is no way I can complete the marathon without my fuel. Strike three… I'm OUT!

After I inform Andy, he quickly turns the car around at the next exit. Back at the cabin, I retrieve my vest, and we are back on the road. My oversight costs us only ten minutes, but as I later learn, that time is invaluable.

As I dash from the car to the starting line, I'm relieved to hear an official still giving instructions. The race hasn’t started yet. Convinced I have a minute or two to spare, I slip into a porta-potty.

Inside, I hear a countdown starting.

Ten…nine…eight…

Just like during a marathon, my body refuses to move any faster right now, regardless of my urgency.

Three…two…one…

Amidst the cheering crowd, the race begins. But without me.

Upon exiting the porta-potty, I hastily make my way to the starting line, only to find no other runners in sight. I cross the mat solemnly, turn on my watch, and take my first official steps.

The course consists of two out-and-back segments, translating to four equal-length sections. This layout suits my goal of completing the marathon in precisely four hours; with each hour, I can monitor my progress.

At this moment, however, all I know is that I'm behind. After a few tense minutes, I catch up with the tail end of the pack. Navigating through the crowd, I eventually reach runners matching my target pace. The tree-lined path is breathtaking.

Taking a moment to breathe, I gaze at the redwoods towering around me. Paradoxically, amid these giants, I feel larger than life. These slender yet soaring trees connect me to the earth beneath my feet and the sky above.

While my marathon strategy typically encourages me to zone out and methodically maintain my pace, today, I choose to do the opposite. I immerse myself in my awe-inspiring surroundings, allowing them to fuel my run.

The course presents a few challenges: my watch malfunctions in areas with poor GPS signal, causing me to believe I’m running faster than I actually am. Additionally, during the final segment, I encounter slower half-marathoners, complicating my assessment of my natural pace.

However, focused on my four-hour goal, I finish the race with a chip time of 3:58:54. My results also indicate that I started just two minutes after the official countdown, a minor gap that felt monumental in the moment.

Although I feel a bit embarrassed about my unnecessary worries throughout this journey, I also experience a sense of pride. I have completed yet another marathon, this time hundreds of miles from home.

With my first destination marathon now behind me, I eagerly anticipate future events this fall, including the Klondike Road Relay in Alaska and the New York City Marathon. I'm excited to apply the insights I've gained to these new challenges.

Simultaneously, this experience has prompted me to reflect on my lifelong habit of rushing toward a destination—be it the starting line, the finish, or a significant milestone. I begin to question my constant anxiety about falling behind and my yearning to be anywhere but in the moment.

Spending quality time with Andy and the others that weekend—much like my communion with the redwoods during the run—has shown me that I can slow down, even pause, and still achieve remarkable things.

The most fulfilling destinations, I realize, are those where you’ve already arrived, even if you’re not fully aware of it yet.

Thank you for reading.

Chapter 2: Embracing the Journey

In this video, take a scenic drive through two massive ancient redwood trees along the California coast in a Mini Cooper convertible, showcasing the stunning beauty of these natural giants.

Chapter 3: Discovering Nature's Heights

Join SciShow Kids in this engaging exploration of the world's tallest trees, the redwoods, and discover what makes these magnificent giants so extraordinary.