I was born and raised in a magical land where I had my choice of trails within about 15 miles of my house. Flat shady trails, hills through the woods, or up and down along the ridge of tall sandy dunes. I could run barefoot along the edge of the water listening to the sound of the waves. I could run with my cross country teammates or drive up and spend a couple hours out there alone. This magical land is Indiana. The first ocean I loved was Lake Michigan. Fast forward 10+ years and I'm now running trails in California from Santa Cruz up to the Marin Headlands and in love with the Pacific Ocean. Well, wait, that sounds too dreamy. I live at least an hour and a half factoring in freeway traffic from the nearest trails. I'm not really familiar with any trails and watch too many episodes of "I Shouldn't Be Alive", so the only time I get out to run them is when I run a race and it's marked and other people are out there or at least know I'm out th...