Introducing Run Amok, an adventure series built on a simple belief: the best way to discover a place is to run through it. In this edition, I’m braving hills, taking dips and refueling with açaí bowls along the cliffs of San Diego.
I’ve had hundreds of post-run coffees, in cafes and parks all over the world. But this was shaping up to be a memorable one, considering a man had just thrown himself off an ocean bluff. I put my cold brew down. Half a second later, a strong gust tossed him and his yellow canopy northward, up the very coastline I’d just run.
Such is a typical Tuesday morning at the Cliffhanger Cafe, a gliderport kiosk perched 350 feet above the Pacific Ocean, which plays lo-fi beats as tourists fuel up on chicken-pesto sandwiches and veteran hang gliders suit up for their aerial loops. I appeared to be the only one there who’d emerged from an equal parts grueling and gorgeous eight-miler through Torrey Pines State Park.
I’d run in Balboa Park once, years ago, knocking out some obligatory marathon miles in the nauseous middle of a bachelor party weekend. But until this particular vacation, I’d never run along the coastline of San Diego County. What a crime. America’s Finest City also has some of its absolute finest footpaths and trail networks — over 70 miles of options for anyone looking to get out of the house, which around here would appear to be everyone.
On three runs in the area, I passed surfers, cyclists, hikers, dog walkers, young couples with babies, old couples with bottles of wine and, of course, plenty of other runners. Also: lots of sunbathing seals. They stink! The wintergreen scent of 200-year-old Torrey pine trees mixing with onshore Pacific breezes, though — I can’t think of a better reset for the nostrils.
While San Diego offers a cornucopia of inland trails, I stuck to the beach views. It had been a long winter back home when I arrived this past spring. I was ready to thaw out. Here’s where I stayed, where I ran and where I fueled up.
Where I Got Eight Hours
Orli La Jolla
My Uber driver told me he was familiar with almost every hotel in the San Diego area. He’s used to picking up out-of-towners for beach vacations or the city’s constant carousel of conventions. But he’d never heard of Orli La Jolla. He found this troubling; I found it gratifying. Love me an unassuming gem.
It’s a unique setup, even for a boutique hotel of just 13 rooms. There’s the front house, designed by the California modernist Irving Gill way back in the 1910s; the back house, named for Kate Sessions, the landscape architect known as the “Mother of Balboa Park”; and in between a courtyard shaded by 100-year-old olive trees, under which I’d read my book, knock out some emails and prepare the route for my next run.
Hoteliers (and siblings) Hailey and Max Waitt set out to create an elevated homestay. I could feel this in the details: the effortless keypad check-in, the enormous bed and the many totems that made you feel like you were staying at your coolest friend’s guest house. (I had my own record player.)
The location is also conducive to casual comings and goings: La Jolla is an upscale seaside suburb with artistic teeth, and hundreds of restaurants spread across La Jolla proper, Bird Rock and Hermosa. I ate like a prince. The Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego is across the street from Orli; so is La Jolla Tennis Club. The beach, meanwhile, is seemingly always five minutes away.
Where I Logged Miles
La Jolla
Your first run in a new place needs to be an exploratory four-miler. I firmly believe this. Don’t plot a route, don’t worry about pace, don’t bring your phone. Just run two miles out and back. Not two hours after my flight landed, I was already blinking my eyes at a 63-degree afternoon, making my way from Orli down to the strand along Neptune Place.
La Jolla doesn’t have a continuous coastal path, so I’d often get thrown back into suburban stretches, but I didn’t mind. Loping around the jewel of San Diego beats aspirational Zillow browsing any day. One thing that did shock me: how hilly the area was. This run put some immediate, unexpected elevation gain on my legs (which came back to bite me the following day).
I ended my run up by Seal Rock, my first look at the wild harbor seals and sea lions having a never-ending sleepover in the sun. I sat on a bench by the lifeguard hut, feeling sweaty yet refreshed, and got lucky: a couple of the seals decided to waddle into the Pacific for a swim.
Torrey Pines
The anchor adventure for this running vacation. My plan was simple: get dropped off at the southern entrance, right around Torrey Pines State Beach; run the entirety of the park; get spat out near the Torrey Pines Golf Course (one of the best public courses in the country); hitch up with a service road; ride the highway for a bit; then make my way to the Cliffhanger Cafe. From a bird’s-eye view, I managed all of it.
The problem — as silly as this might sound — was the run was too beautiful. I kept getting distracted. There are endless little loops off the main artery to take you on side quests throughout the park. They bring you down cushy, red-hued sand trails to the perch of 45-million-year-old sandstone headlands. I whipped past yucca flowers, cacti, chaparral, rock cavities (tafoni) and darting lizards. I luckily did not encounter any rattlesnakes.
At some point, high on life, I took the Broken Hill Trail to the Beach Point Trail and found myself at the mouth of a lagoon. This was a blissful few minutes. I even skipped a few stones. And then I realized I had to run all the way back up. My calves were shredded by now. I vowed to stick to the main trail once I finished my climb. The final stats: eight miles, 1,145 feet of elevation gain and 90 minutes on my feet. I was ready to collapse by the time I reached Cliffhanger.
Inside Scotland’s Most Beautiful (and Brutal) Trail Race
The Highland Ultra is a 78-mile odyssey through rugged terrain — and ends with a pint at Great Britain’s most remote pubTourmaline
The final run of my trip mimicked the start of that first-day run, except I didn’t turn around at the two-mile mark. I ran farther south, all the way to Tourmaline Surfing Park — the very first American surf park, a dedicated surfing-only beach, incorporated back in 1963. Locals call the break “Old Man’s” and seem very proud of the laid-back ethos. It’s a gentle wave with a generous parking lot for all sorts of surfers to swing by, “spread Aloha” and “share waves without judgment,” part of the inscription on a memorial at the site.
I didn’t run down to Tourmo with a plank on my bank, but I wanted to get in on the fun somehow. So I kicked off my socks and runners and dove into the water for a dip. I was dry by the time I got my post-run pastry in Bird Rock.
Where I Fueled Up
Blue Whale
If I lived in La Jolla, I’d probably eat here four days a week (and considering I started to recognize some faces, I think the locals genuinely do). This is just your classic beach cafe: good coffee, healthy sandwiches, poke bowls, snacks for the crunchy types, Khruangbin earning royalties at all hours of the day. You couldn’t ask for a better place to replenish on a running vacation.
The Taco Stand
Yes, the Taco Stand may have jumped the shark a bit; it’s starting to get the In-N-Out treatment, with locations in Dallas, Las Vegas and Miami. But the cult-favorite Mexican spot started right here in San Diego, and I encountered a line down the street on a random Wednesday night. It really is that good. Years ago, during that same bachelor party I mentioned, a friend of mine had his Resy account suspended because he cancelled two big-group dinners just so we could continue eating the Taco Stand. I order the grilled mahi-mahi burrito.
Hermosa Surf
I’ve been around the world. I own some cool clothes. But goodness gracious did I feel self-conscious in this militantly hip surf shop/açaí counter/live music pop-up in Bird Rock, a neighborhood within the larger La Jolla community. Fortunately they’re also pretty nice in this neck of the woods, so I settled in soon enough. I ordered a bowl with lots of fresh fruit and peanut butter and ate it while flipping through some sunny coffee-table books.
Wayfarer Bread & Pastry
I’d heard good things about this bakery and it did not disappoint. Also located in Bird Rock, it had a Hansel-and-Gretel vibe and fluffy chocolate croissants.
Photos and video by Tanner Garrity
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