Outlaw Cowboy

One thing that I am adamantly against and cannot understand why people do it, is to run with an iPod or some other listening device. One, it is unsafe and second, why do we need to pipe in noise/music/sound to every dying second of the day? One of the great joys of running is to hear the crunch of frozen leaves underfoot, bullfrogs croaking in the early evening, the cry of a hawk in flight, or to the tune that randomly plays in your head. You don't need a synthetic beat to fall into a rhythm while running. What do you think your beating heart is? What do you think that tune in your head is? Or the conversation with your training partner? I just don't get it! There is so much music and beats going on around you and in your head. Which leads to today's topic.

So while I was out on my eight mile run, I found myself singing Waylon Jennings tunes, which lead to Merle Haggard tunes, which lead to Hank Jr, which lead right back to Hos and Bocephus having a "Conversation." It all started with "Momma Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys" into "Working Man Blues" to so on and so on and so on. Let me be clear, when I say I was singing, I did not literally sing out loud, it was in my head. Though, I must admit, I did sing a little bit of the chorus to "Working Man Blues" while running on the canal. As I was trying to figure out why in the world I was in an outlaw cowboy music mood, when it dawned on me, I fancy myself, as a runner, a cowboy outlaw.

Outlaw Coyboys and runners share some common traits that separate us from the rest of society. First, we make our own rules. It is not that we don't believe in truth, justice and the American way, on the contrary, it is because we believe in these ideas and the pursuit of happiness that we seek to etch out our own path to glory. Just because the mediocre majority longs for McHappiness, the runner and the outlaw cowboy would rather be out on a trail, forging his own bliss. Second, we don't care what the masses think of us. The beauty of the outlaw cowboys was that they didn't give a rip what the establishment thought of them. Likewise, I don't care what people think about my running. If I want to run in the rain, I am going to run in the rain. If I want to run at midnight and howl at the full moon, well, damn it, I don't care, I'm going to run and howl! Last but not least, we are an exclusive club. It is not that most people cannot be a part of our circle, it is just most choose not to. It requires a certain lifestyle that at times is very depressing, melancholy, and flat out hard. Yet, at the same time, it is one with benefits and highs so few ever experience. Most people don't dream of running 100 miles per week. Most don't dream of pushing themselves to the brink of that feeling that your intestines are going explode out your arse. Most don't dream of being faster than anyone else they know covering 1 mile, 5K, 10K or longer by foot. But, to a runner, these are just part of the daily grind to glory and what we live for. Yup, runners and outlaw cowboys are two cousins who share a common longing, but rather on horse or tour bus, the runner chooses to use his own two feet.

So if you pass me out on the road, trail, or country lane, tip your hat as you pass and maybe I will croon you with a little cowboy tune. As always, stay healthy, keep running and enjoy a little Waylon in your head.

Steal of a Deal!

I happen to be a very luck guy in that my in-laws live in a very cool place to visit and run, San Diego. Every time we go down to visit, I thank my lucky stars that they don't live in someplace like Modesto. (No offense to Modestians, but really, compared to San Diego, you too would rather be there than the Valley in the Wintertime.) Not only is there plenty of trails to plant my road weary feet, there is a plethora of running stores. Which means at Christmas time I get gift cards, usually to Road Runner Sports. One thing that I have noticed with age, is that I refuse to pay full retail for some nylon sewn to some blown rubber with some kind of air bag, gel cel, torsion bar or any other assorted shock absorbers. To put it in plain English, I'm a cheapskate!

So yesterday as I was spending my last day in the land of perpetual 70 degrees I made a journey to cash in my plastic for some well deserved merchandise. This way I could help stimulate the economy as I stimulate my cardio-vascular system. Once arriving at Road Runner Sports I skipped the main store and went straight to the back where there is a store room and a tent set up with all the clearance and returned items. As a size 13, it is very difficult to ever find a great deal without putting in a special online order and upon first rummaging of the wares I found nothing. However, after 15-20 minutes of disappointment I headed for the main store when out of the corner of my eye I caught the glint of bright neon yellow and lo and behold, there they were! At first I was sure it would be a mistake and read size 11.5 or some other toe pinching size on the tag, but as I lifted the Nike Lunar Elites the orange clearance tag read size 13, $30.29! My heart raced, my palms got sweaty and my vision blurred. The running gods finally smiled upon me with a gift from heaven. Clutching my find, I carefully examined the shoes to find that they had maybe been worn once, twice at most. No rips, blemishes or defects. Plus, they were this year's model and colors. Normally I would have to settle for the past year's model, but not this go around.

So after 60 straight days of pounding the pavement, trails, canals and country lanes, I will sport a new pair of Nike Elites to help carry me along on my quest to be the best old fart runner I can be.

King of the Closet

Getting new shoes is one of the great pleasures a runner has. It is almost orgasmic when you open the box, as that new shoe smell permeates your nasal cavities, lifting them ever so gently like a new born baby blinking at all the possibilities that life has in store for them. Your mind races to all the trails, routes and work-out that you and your happy feet are going to have in the upcoming days, weeks and months. Oh happy day!!! Pure heaven awaits for you outside the door.

But there is one pair of shoes that trumps them all; brand new racing flats. Training shoes are awesome, but your racers, well these puppies define who you are as a runner. That's right, a runner is not defined by how many miles he or she has ran. A runner is not defined by the places they train. A runner is defined by the times that he or she has ran over a certain distance from point A to Point B. Plain and simple, I am defined by how well I manage to cover 5000 and 10,000 meters within the parameters of time. Therefore, my racing shoes are the King of the Closet, for their task is greater than all other Nikes, Adidas and Mizunos that share space with them, for they are all working for the day that the King laces up and takes my ten little piggies to market for the ride of their life.

As the new year is about to begin, I was given a great Christmas present from my wife, a brand new pair of neon green Nike Zoom Streak XC racing flats. For the past 58 days I have sacrificed a portion of my day, some days two portions, to trod bits of this blue and green planet as fast as my two legs could carry me for that day. But I do not run to for the pure joy of running, although I do enjoy the activity, I run to cover ground fast and hopefully faster than most 43, soon to be 44 year old runners do. I train to race. Win or lose. First or last. I run because I love to race and I need a shoe that will allow me on any given day to walk away saying "wow, I gave all I had today and it was well worth it!"

So I look forward to 2011 and either passing you or you passing me, with my bright neon green Nikes pounding away from point A to point B! As for the moment, I am going to go back to the closet and admire my Zoom Streaks and dream of a 5K road race with that fresh new shoe smell.

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and make sure to run a few races this year!

Child's Play

I never understood why anyone would choose to run on a treadmill over being outside. I get it when it comes to December in Minnesota or Michigan, but California? What do we have, a chill factor of 43 degrees? Yet, as soon as a little rain or dip in the temp occurs, the bronzed tan beauties head for the great indoors with televised sun soaked trails and authentic "sounds of nature" pumping in their earbuds. But why waste your time with artificial experiences when you can experience the fountain of youth by being outdoors playing in the rain?

Phil and I had so much fun yesterday we decided to go for one more run before we head back to the realities of adulthood that await us after the holidays. It was during this morning's run that I discovered why this is so much fun; it is child's play. Here we are, two grown men, responsible pillars of our communities doing exactly what our moms' had warned us not to do when we were little boys, playing in the rain. After another night of rain, there was no way to get around the puddles on the trails, so we did what any sensible adult would do, we splashed through them with high knees in order to make even bigger splashes! We were playing in the rain, splashing in puddles, knocking soaking branches of trees and bushes back at the other person spraying them with huge droplets, scampering up slippery rocks, sliding in the mud, and jumping bushes. We were blazing new trails. We were engaged in child's play.

So as you head out today to run, skip the treadmill, hit a trail or super wet road and splash it up! It is good to be kid again, if only for a few miles.

Rain, Mud and Lattes!

Today I got an early Christmas present when I got to go for a nice 6 mile run with my former Sonoma State Teammate and Roomie, Phil. I always remember running with Phil on our Sunday morning long runs in Annadel State Park in Santa Rosa, mainly because when you ran with Phil on a trail, it was going to be an adventure. Phil was an extraordinary mountain runner who could float up hills and take narrow steep goat trails down the side of hill like he was a gazelle. If he took a sudden turn up or down some barely seen break in the main trial, hang on to your running shorts, because you were about to go for a wild ride. And this morning, nearly 20 years later, was no exception.

We are both fortunate to have married beautiful women whose parents live in the San Diego area, so while on vacation, we were able to coordinate this morning's run around one of my favorite running spots, Lake Hodges. As we headed out on the trails in the rain, it was like being transported back in time to when we were both slimmer and fleet of foot as we came upon the first big puddle and Phil barrels through sending a cascade of mud and backsplash my way, laughing the whole time. If the run would have ended right then and there, it would have been more than worth it just to experience that moment of us just being free and doing that thing we love. Although, later I did slip and slid down the side of a hill and had a little difficulty getting upright, providing some more laughs.

As we traversed the mud and yuck we chatted away about life, kids, and work forgetting that we are a couple of middle-aged adults scantily clad running around in the rain. Long gone are the discussions about winning races, classes and what career paths to take, but the connection between two former teammates, more importantly friends, is still there and strong. Even though I am still out enjoying this crazy life, I will never be able to replace certain people and when I run without them, there is a void that can only be filled with memories. But what great memories they are!

Phil, thanks for a great run and a life time of memories! Here's hoping it does not take us this long again to enjoy a rainy romp on the trails and a great cup of coffe afterwards.

Runner's Guilt

This morning I find myself putting off my run. It is still dark and the rain is falling heavily outside. Normally, I don't really care.
What needs to be done, needs to be done. Today though, more coffee sounds better. The problem is this damn runner's guilt. Even though I have just poured another cup of steamy rich French Roast with a dash of half and half, wafting the heavenly aroma of the sweet nectar of the gods, my cold, damp, muddy adidas are over in the corner giving me the puppy dog look. Uggggh.

Some days I wish I was more normal. I could curl up to my wife in our nice warm bed. I could eat a pound of bacon and not think twice about how it is going to hurt coming up later when I head out for a run. I could have man boobs and joke about needing a "bro" (man-bra) and flaunt my plumbers crack due to the fact that my big belly will not let me pull my jeans up all the way. I could even crack stupid over-used cliches such as, "the only running I do is to the 'fridge" or "I don't even drive that far."

But alas, normalcy has never been part of my DNA. There is no getting around it, there is only one way to rid myself of the guilt. Time to lace up. At least there will be a hot shower and fresh pot of hot coffee waiting for me when I get back. Besides, the coffee in my cup is cold now, so I might as well do something productive while waiting for the new pot to brew.

As always, stay healthy, dry, warm and keep running!

A Matter of Heart

It is almost 5:00 am and as I sit sipping my French Roast with a dash of half and half, the rain is coming down in the darkness that awaits me. I have not had the best of sleep over the past two nights due to the fact that my dad is in the hospital for the second time in less than six months due to his heart. Having an uncle you had a massive heart attack at 51 and my grandpa die of a heart attack at 51 and my dad in his early 60's in the hospital with a heart episode, knowing that he is going to have to make some drastic life changes, is a little unnerving.

As a coach, the number one attribute that I look for in athletes is heart. The number one thing that I hope that my teammates and my two coaches can say about me, is that I had heart. I love this sport and I love to compete. I was never the best, but better than most. If it is raining and cold, so be it. If it is over 100 and I need to wake at 4:30 in the morning to run, so be it. Nothing is more disappointing than when you coach an athlete and they give you a million excuses why they can't practice or compete. I know running is not everyone's cup of tea, and quite honestly, if you don't like this sport, it is really miserable. However, when you fall in love with it, you just can't get enough.

One athlete that I coach, Lupe, is the epitome of "heart." Although Lupe is not my most talented runner and barely made our top five, he never finished a race where he did not cross the line exhausted and spent. On several occasions, Lupe would apologize after a close, hard fought race for not placing higher or running faster. (Never mind that he just ran a pr or passed an opposing team's runner to secure the win.) Each time I would put my arm around his shoulder and tell him, "Lupe, you gave me everything you had out there. No coach could ask for more than that from his athletes."

I believe I developed this whole notion of "heart" from my dad. Throughout his whole adult life he has worked very hard, often 14-16 hours a day as an ag mechanic. My dad is a firm believer if you are going to do something, you should do it right. More importantly, he did it mainly so that my siblings and myself could experience a different type of life than what he has. If there has ever been anyone who encouraged me to stay at this crazy running life, it is my dad. If there was someone who encouraged me to do it right, it was my dad. So even though his physical heart is starting to get a little worn out, I know that his true heart is still just as strong as ever.

I'm going to head out the door now. Today, more than ever I need to run. It is who I am. A runner. It's a matter of the heart.

Return to Kenya

Yesterday morning I went for a 12 mile run with my young training partner Lino at our favorite spot, Rocky Hill. It had been many moons since I had last frolicked these hallowed grounds of the local running and cycling community and I was thrilled to be able to get back to the birthplace of the nickname that was bestowed upon me when I ran in junior college.

During my time running for College of Sequoias, my coach had given me a video to watch called the Super Milers. I remember once particular scene where the great Kenyan runner Kip Keino is running down a hillside in Eldoret, grinning the whole way, and I am thinking, "this looks just like the backside of Rocky Hill!" So the next week when we were at Rocky Hill doing a hard run I remarked to my coach, "I feel like a Kenyan today!" When asked why, I explained how the backside of Rocky Hill looked like the scene with Keino and since we are training in a place like Kenya, well, then, I need to think and run like a Kenyan. At which point, a teammate blurted out, an "Albino Kenyan!"

Over twenty years later Coach Bronzan is still telling that story to his runners and I am still trying to run like a Kenyan. I know I will never set a world record or win an Olympic medal, but what most people don't know about Kenyan runners is that the reason they are so good is because they love what they are doing. I still love dragging my butt out of bed on a cold Saturday morning to drive 20-30 minutes to my favorite local running spot and trying to put one foot in front of the other faster than I did the day before. So today as I head out the door, I feel like a Kenyan! Maybe an Albino one, but a Kenyan none the less. In Swahili, there is a saying, "Mambu Baddu," which means, the best is yet to come. Time and Mother Nature may have slowed down the ol leg turnover, but I firmly believe that each morning when I lace up, the best is yet to come and that if I keep on running, the Albino Kenyan will be one with his "Kenyan Brethren" all over the world.

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and Mambu Baddu!

Top Ten

As I am getting ready to head out the door for day 42 this morning and going through my morning ritual; coffee, check email and messages, more coffee (the original energy drink), I notice I have received a message from my good friend and former team mate Phil. Phil, next to my wife, was my favorite room mate in college and has a very quick wit. Whenever you are with Phil, whether it be running, enjoying a hot cup of coffee or an ice cold dark brown beer, your sides are going to be sore from all the laughing that takes place! So here is my first guest contributor to this humble blog from my good buddy, bringing us the top ten reasons that running is better than sex!

The 10 Reasons Running Could Be Considered Better Than Sex.

10. You’re not breaking a commandment if you do it with your neighbor’s wife.
9. You don’t have to wait for everyone to leave the house to do it alone.
8. You can do it in public and not worry about getting arrested.
7. You don’t have to wear anything besides a pair of shorts to make it safe.
6. You can’t get pregnant doing it.
5. You can do it in a group and not feel weird.
4. You can do it even if your wife has a headache. In fact, it’s recommended.
3. When you get older, you don’t have to take a drug to get yourself up to do it. (Advil is an exception)
2. You don’t have to cuddle with anyone after you’re finished.
1. It’s a good thing to be quick.

I hope you enjoyed the top ten as much as I did! I literally spat out the coffee in my mouth when I read number 9.

As always, stay healthy, keep running and remember at our age, even though running can be better than sex, it is still good to indulge in this cross training activity! Just don't pull anything that would be embarrassing to explain to the doctor!

Come Get Some!

Yesterday I ran with two college guys, Lino and Mikey, for a nice 9 mile run. It was also the NCAA DII National Cross Country Championships yesterday and having competed in this meet exactly 20 years ago I pulled out my favorite piece of memorabilia from that day, a Slippery Rock University t-shirt. Now, you might be wondering what is so special about that, especially since I did not run for Slippery Rock, well, I will tell ya!

Our coach at Sonoma State had competed in several NCAA championship meets and internationally in his days with Athletics West and he had told us that when you compete in a meet of this caliber and internationally athletes would exchange t-shirts and jerseys. Since this was our school's first and only appearance at the NCAA champs for the men, we wanted to have the full experience of competing at this level. So when we got the list of competitors, my teammate Phil and I perused the names and came across Slippery Rock. Phil, being a geology major, stated that this should be the team we exchange shirts with. So on the day of the meet we made it our mission to seek out and find a couple of "Rock" athletes to exchange swag with.

Fortunately while searching for the restroom we ran into two guys from Slippery Rock and started up a conversation that lead to "the exchange." Amazing enough, they were the same size as Phil and I! But the best part was the saying on the back of the shirt, "Come Get Some!" When you run at this level, everyone has a little swagger in their step and sometimes we let it spill over into our apparel. Wishing each other the best and commenting on the virility of the slogan, we headed off to duke it out with each other on the 10k course on a nice chilly late autumn day.

It is hard to believe that twenty years have passed since that day, but here I am after all these years, still sporting the "Come Get Some" while running with college guys. I may not be as fast as I once was, but I still have a little swagger left. To all my Sonoma State teammates, happy 20th Anniversary of the greatest achievement in our little school's cross country team's history and to the two "Rock" runners, here is hoping you are still out there in Pennsylvania tearing it up with the kids on the trails and roads.

As always, keep healthy, keep running and don't forget to have a little swagger in your stride!

p.s.. Streak update: 37 straight days and 60 miles for this past week.

Colder Than a Witch's...

Ugggh! I had been waiting for the cold weather to arrive and when it did, it showed up big time. After prying my manhood from the abyss of my bowels, I made the comment to my wife, "it is colder than a witch's t%#&*!" Now, I am not really all that familiar with the anatomy of those who practice the dark arts, but man, it was stinking cold! Which leads me to wonder, how does one determine the temperature of the mammary glands of a warty old lady? Is that even a question that should be considered? I don't think so! Ok, so where am I going with this? Well, I'm not too sure, but I do know that each morning at 5:00 am it is frigid and within three strides I lose all feeling in my face and the sweat on my forehead is starting to freeze on my eyebrows! But the streak must go on!

Today's run made it 33 days in a row and I am now 1/3 of the way through my 100 day streak! Last week I managed 50 miles and this week I have set a goal of 55-60 miles for the week. As we head deeper into the winter it gets a little harder and harder to drag myself from the comfort of the flannel sheets, down comforter and my wife to slip out the door scantily dressed in lycra blend and cotton garments into the dank and dreary darkness of early morning. However, I know it will be all worth it come July when I finally line up at the World Masters Championships in Sacramento ready to take on the challenge of flying around the track 12 1/2 times! And for this week, it will be worth it to write down in the log, 60 miles!

Until the next time, stay healthy, keep running and keep warm!