Running Across America: Our Ten-Year Quest

By Kathy Pycior

An exciting tale of how a couple spent their two-week vacation every summer for ten years running a relay across the country, overcoming many obstacles. When they finished, they were exhausted and exhilaratedand still married!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491848579

Kathy Pycior

Kathy Pycior, was born in Los Angeles, California, and spent most of her life in Southern California. She grew up enjoying the outdoors, playing outside with her brother and sister and the neighborhood boys, and camping, fishing, and hiking with the family on summer vacations. When other girls her age dreaded physical education class in school, she loved it and would push herself to challenge others. Her interest in running began in 1978. She met Don in 1980, and he was always presenting a challenge to her. This began the running streak that earned her a Guinness World Record in 2006 for the longest running streak by a female. Their marriage and running career spanned three decades, until his passing in 2012. She has two daughters, three step-children, and eight grandchildren. She is enjoying life in Pismo Beach, California, in the dream home she and Don bought in 1998 and still walks every day, keeping the memory of Don in her heart.

Book preview

© 2014 Kathy Pycior. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/21/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-4858-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-4857-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900129

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgment

Transam, 1992

Transam, 1993

Transam, 1994

Transam, 1995

Kansas, 1997

Missouri, 1998

Illinois To Indiana, 1999

Ohio, 2000

Pennsylvania, 2001

New Jersey To Central Park, New York, 2002

Epilogue

About The Author

For Don

FOREWORD

I first met Kathy at the Alhambra Tavern ten-kilometer race where she would meet her future husband, Don Pycior. From there they arranged their first date, appropriately a run together around Mile Square Park. Don talked Kathy into joining him on his daily running streak, which would eventually surpass twenty years of running without missing a single day. Kathy invited Don to attend her Tuesday night fun-run group, which, along with the weekend long runs and occasional races, introduced them to a fun circle of friends, all with their quirks and personalities but all united in their love of running. Eventually Kathy’s personal streak would reach an astonishing twenty-eight years of daily runs without a single miss (in 2009)—a testament to her physical strength, mental toughness, and continued excellent health. This feat would earn Kathy a place in the Guinness World Records in 2006.This was also made possible because Kathy had diligently recorded each day’s run, logging distance, location, and time for the entire twenty-three-year streak! (at the time the paperwork was submitted) It was this same diligence in record keeping that allowed Kathy to meticulously record the events as she and Don set out on their most ambitious achievement yet: to run across the United States from Huntington Beach, California, to New York’s Central Park. And herein lies the story …

Mike Sayward

Retired teacher and distance coach

PREFACE

T his book was derived from the daily journal I kept when my husband, Don, and I ran as a two-person relay across America in two-week segments over a ten-year period. It explains why we decided to join the 1992 Trans America Footrace, how it became possible, how we began this as a one-week run across California, and what drove us to continue on to New York while encountering numerous obstacles through the years.

It is a detailed account of the mileage, locations, and nearly all types of road conditions that we encountered; the people we met; and my feelings and the observations I made along the way.

After reaching our goal in 2002 and into the following years, Don encouraged me to turn my journal into a book about our unique experience; a few others agreed, so I started writing. Sadly, Don passed away in 2012, and I became more determined than ever to share our unique story.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

T his story would not be possible without the foresight of race directors Jesse Riley and Michael Kenney, who conceived of the 1992 Trans America Footrace. Michael tediously crossed the country, driving, making notes, and mapping the course in great detail. They organized the race and obtained sponsors. Our friend Rob McNair introduced us to them, and they allowed us to participate in the excitement of their event and provided us with the course direc tions.

We would never have reached our end goal of New York if we had not made the friendship and connection with the race directors that allowed us to obtain the turn sheets for the rest of the route after we separated from them. I am grateful to them for this experience.

TRANSAM, 1992

I t all started in June 1992, when a friend showed us an article in the paper about an upcoming footrace starting in Huntington Beach, California, and finishing in New York sixty-four days later. He said, Here’s a race for you, Don, and we just laughed. Don was well known, in our running group, for his ultrarunning obsession—he had run The Western States 100-mile Endurance Run three times as well as completing numerous other 50 milers, 50 ks , etc.

We read the article. The race was to start on June 20, 1992, the day after our tenth anniversary, in our own backyard, at the shore at Huntington Beach, California. Don began thinking about a plan for the two of us to start with the group and run to the Nevada border. We were in no way in any shape physically or logistically to run the distance. He began to seriously think about doing it as a relay between the two of us, with one of us driving as the other ran, doing intervals of three to ten miles at a stretch.

As luck would have it, our friend Rob had met the race directors, Michael Kenney and Jesse Riley, and was hosting them at his home. We had them over for barbeque and a soak in the Jacuzzi one night before the race began. We told them our plans and asked if they would be all right. They thought our plans would be okay, and we agreed to pay a small fee for running and receiving the daily turn sheets to keep on course with the other runners. Runners would pay two hundred dollars for their entry fee. We said we would be self-sufficient and get our own accommodations, food, water, etc.

We could only take two weeks off from work. Don was a teacher, and he had the summer break, but he coached cross country and had to start practices in July. I was an escrow officer and only had a two-week vacation. Soon we were off and planning the clothing we’d need (lots of socks and shoes) and food and liquids. We knew that there would be lots of hours in the hot sun without provisions. We had a Volkswagen camper that proved to be a great asset for such an undertaking.

Studying the list of race overnight stops that was provided by the race directors, we planned our strategy. Don had figured that I would start and run ten miles for the first leg, and then he would take over and run ten miles. Then I was to run ten miles and trade off to Don, completing the day with a five-mile leg each, covering the total distance that the actual race would follow and ending the first day in Rancho Cucamonga. Two of our good running friends had expressed a desire to accompany us the first day. Morris would run with me, and John would run with Don. We were all in very good shape in those days, having trained together for many miles and running several marathons. I was forty-three, and Don was fifty-three, both in our peak running years.

Day 1—Huntington Beach to Rancho Cucamonga

At the start, on a cool Saturday, June 20, 1992, we met some of the entrants of the race. There were twenty-eight in all, mostly men, with only two women. They were from all over the world—Germany, France, Austria, Switzerland, Canada—and all over the United States and included our hometown boy, Dave Warady of Huntington Beach. There was a tangible buzz of excitement.

Don had made a cheesy-looking sash to wear saying California to Nevada. We were to pass that off at the end of each leg. After much hoopla and photographs, the race took off. It was cool and cloudy, and I was anxious to get started. Morris and I were running in very familiar territory, on our Santa Ana River trail. We met Don and John ten miles later. We had planned to meet every two miles, just as the race directors had planned a water/Gatorade station every two miles for the entrants. Don, in the van, met us every two miles or so (if it was convenient to pull over, depending on the situation on the course). This continued throughout the day. It turned out to be a very warm day. We learned later that after the race directors dropped off the jugs of Gatorade along the side of the road most of them had been stolen.

01.jpg

Turn sheet for first day

Morris and I got the leg running up Carbon Canyon, which was very steep. We did okay, though. Don was more fortunate to get a lot of downhill, and as was just like Don, he felt guilty that I had the most hills—but he got his share later.

We finished at the VFW hall by 4:45 p.m. The twenty-eight race entrants of the TransAm were scattered around on the floor and in chairs, complaining about the day (not having the aid stations they were promised) and nursing blisters. I couldn’t believe they were going on for sixty-three more days—we only had six more days to go!

We checked in with the race director and told him that we were going to the nearest motel and not roughing it with the group on the VFW hall floor. It was an understanding from the beginning that we would be doing our own thing, just running the distance as a relay and not interfering with the race.

Our friends, Morris, John, and Rob (who had been riding his bike all day), followed us to the Econolodge. We all showered and went to Sizzler to pig out. They then left for the drive back home. We were exhausted and my eyes were burning, but I had to begin writing my journal, because I knew that someday it would be important. The next day’s run was looming ahead, without pacers. We had a 4:00 a.m. wake-up call.

02.jpg

First day with Morris (left) and John (right)

Day 2—Rancho Cucamonga to Victorville

We slept well. My legs felt pretty good. After running twenty-five miles the day before, I wasn’t sure. But it’s different when you go easy and run in small sections. Don figured out a plan for day two. He was to run first, as we decided to alternate (whoever finished last each day was to start the next morning). We decided to shorten the distance of each leg—he was to run seven miles uphill first; I then ran a pretty flat six miles. My ankle was bothering me—a little stiff—but it loosened up. I was truly enjoying taking in the scenery that morning and just appreciated the sheer pleasure of not having to dress up, apply makeup, and endure the whole routine of going to work.

Victorville was our destination. Cajon Pass was the big obstacle of the day. When I ran my second leg of six miles, I was surprised to have just a gradual uphill; not too bad, and it was over quickly. Don got the hard part. As soon as he took off, the dirt road and steep rocky part began. He was the stronger runner, so it was a good call. I got to run the next six-mile section, a gradual downhill course. Don had a flat four miles, and then I had the last four-mile stretch into the finish at the Hook Recreation Center, in Victorville. The race directors had a banner they strung up at the finish every day. It read Day 2 (or 32 or whatever day it was leading up to 64 in New York). We hung out at the finish line with the other runners, congratulating everyone. There was press there from Runner’s World. We were all beginning to become friends. At times during the day we would got a chance to run side by side with some of the participants in the race. We had some interesting conversations. We made them understand our goal, to just complete the distance to the Nevada border, relaying, and not trying to compete with them.

We got a room at the Holiday Inn that day. Don needed to live it up—it was Father’s Day! We had extra time that afternoon, because we finished by 3:00. We relaxed and went to a Mexican restaurant. We passed by runners at about 5:30 p.m. with about two miles to go.

I had to ice my right foot that night. It had swelled and had a rash from all the dirt. I was a little worried about the following day.

Day 3—Victorville to Barstow

We started at 5:20 in the morning. We had our routine—fill up all water bottles, mixing some with Exceed or Gatorade; have coffee; and collect our daily turn sheet the race directors provide; they included very detailed mileage distances, with aid stations marked every two miles; all landmarks were noted at every turn, so you couldn’t possibly get lost. Don and I decided on our course of action for the day. It looked to be a piece of cake, only 38.8 miles, flat, but at a hot one hundred degrees. We would each do three 5-mile legs plus a 4.3-mile leg to make it equal. I would run first.

It was a beautiful cool desert morning, and watching the sun rise was great. All was fine, and I was feeling good so far. There was a slight cloud cover, which made it a little cooler. The day seemed to go fast for me. Don finished in Barstow at a recreation center. There was a nice sign up for the TransAm, and the Barstow people had donated pizzas. There was pool access and a sauna, all right there in a park setting.

We finished in six hours and fifty minutes; we were done for the day before 1:00. We socialized in the park for a while and then went to check in at the Sleep Inn two miles down the road. Don had checked it out while running by earlier. (This would become somewhat of a pattern later on.)

On the way to the Sleep Inn we stopped for sandwiches and beer to go. The motel was nice and new and cost only thirty-five dollars. We went for a dip in the pool, as it was a great way to cool down the feet and legs. Dave Warady (the runner from Huntington Beach) and his wife had checked in there too and were also cooling their bodies in the pool. (The next year it was to become a no-no for the race entrants to stay anywhere but where the race directors had designated for all the runners.) We had a nice chat with them. He had a video camera, and they were interested in what we were doing. They were going shopping to buy running socks because his sponsor supplier had given him socks that were too thick!

The swim did our legs good and rinsed out our running clothes at the same time. My feet didn’t hurt and my eyes didn’t burn. This felt like a real vacation.

I made a friend that day, Stefan from Germany. He asked for food when I was at the van waiting for Don. I made him a turkey and cheese sandwich with chips at 9:30 a.m. He said, You know ultras; sometime you need anything but Powerbars. We talked about the Swiss Alpine Marathon, which Don and I had completed a few years earlier; Stefan had finished it three times. He had also run the Western State 100.

The woman from Canada who entered the road race also talked to me and said she was only doing ten miles a day with her boyfriend, Paul. She thought Don and I were doing a great thing with our relay plan. I do too, now.

Don learned from the Waradys that Ludlow (our next night) and then Kelso and Amboy were booked, as far as our little motels go; there was really nothing in Kelso and Amboy (I said I was prepared to sleep in the van, I just hoped we could get a shower somewhere).

Day 4—Barstow to Ludlow

It was 4:30 a.m. We had gotten up as usual at 4:00.