The Day After...

Growing up in the 80's our U.S. History teacher made us watch this horrible film about Nuclear War called the Day After. Freaking gave me nightmares for months. Seriously, who wanted to be left in a world of Nuclear Winter, people with hideous sores from radiation, with all of us just waiting for Mad Maxx to show up! Man, there were so many post-apocalyptic movies that we were all sure Gorbachev was going to drop the big one any moment. But now that I am older, I no longer squeamish from having nightmares of body parts falling off due to radiation poison, but the day after still lingers.

Now the day after refers to that dreaded day after I have done something I was not quite ready to do, like run a fartlek with crazy, hormonal teenage boys who have to run around in the shower just to get wet. Man, the old fat man was keeping up just fine during the work-out, but holy stinking cow! I must have awakened at least half dozen time last night with my calves, feet and for crying out loud, my toes! My toes were cramping up! How in the world does one get a cramp in the big toe? Then when I got out of bed I practically needed a walker to get to the bathroom. This is not good.

All day I hobbled around with a sore groin. Men should not strain their groin. It takes the swagger out of your step. Even when I tried to pull it off as doing my best John Wayne imitation, I looked more like a whooped dog with his tail tucked so far up, he stumbles just to stay upright. At least my voice didn't go up three octaves or else I would have had a lot of explaining to do. But thank goodness the afternoon came and I was able to gingerly stretch out the old white limbs and loosen up with a few miles. So here is hoping the day after, will be a better day than today. Frankly, I think I would have preferred the post-apocalyptic sores and mutants.

As always, stay healthy, keep running...but run with people your own age!

Day 1 of 146

Tonight's blog is going to be short and sweet, but today was officially day 1 of my training of 146 more days to follow until the Napa Marathon on March 4, 2012. Yup, the old boy is going to do it! It is time to saddle up, lace up and put in some serious mileage to conquer the rolling hills of Calistoga and Napa to qualify for the Boston Marathon in 2013.

Today's work-out was a basic fartlek I like to call the Big Mac. Although, I tweaked it a little by taking off some of the secret sauce, pickle and onions, and ran three minutes hard at 90% with a two minutes rest, then three times one minute with a one minute rest, another three minutes hard, two minute rest, another three times a minute, with, that's right, you guessed it, one minute rest followed with a final three minutes hard. With warm up and cool down it came to seven miles. A good solid effort with my high school boys team. Tomorrow will hopefully be a set of double fives and then an easy seven on Wednesday.

Well the old bones are tired and five o'clock comes pretty darn early, so it is off to dream of fast times. As always, stay healthy and keep running.

Here I Go Again!

No, I am not conjuring up my best David Coverdale, although, if my wife did want to do a sexy little dance on the hood of our car I could go with that! But Whitesnake aside, it is hard to believe that the last time I posted was back in May. It has been a wild roller-coaster of a ride over the past few months. A strained neck, a huge skin cancer removed from my forehead, new orthotics to deal with my nagging plantar fasciitis, and a very slow, slow, slow 5k in which I finally wore the ol' red, white and blue in a last place finish at the World Masters Championships. But the good news, I'm healthy again and running.

Which leads to why I am blogging again, it is time to start getting after some of those running bucket list goals I set last year. Even though it was ugly, I still crossed one off this past summer with wearing that uber cool Nike USA uni going round and round with twenty-something other guys from all over the world on a hot July night at Sacramento City College. With that one scratched off the list, the next item will be getting a Boston Marathon qualifying time. Which means, I am now training to run the Napa Marathon in March. So stay tuned for I am about to venture back into that blister on the big toe, chub rub, and nipple chaffing world of marathon running...why? Because, as sick as it sounds, this is fun!
(To Be Continued...)

Nachos, Cheers and Lucky Beer

So today at work I heard someone say something about Lucky beer and I nearly laughed out loud! Man, now that took me back twenty something years to the long nights my first college roommate and teammate Phil spent eating nachos, watching Cheers and enjoying a few cheap Lucky beers when we more than likely should have been studying or at least getting some sleep before the next day's work-out. I love talking about the glory days of my little DII cross country and track program at SSU and how well we done, but truth be told, there was a period of time when I first got there, well, lets just say, running was not priority number one.

This not to say we didn't want to improve and run fast, it was just that we wanted to have a little more fun than should be legal. What a cast of characters we were. My college teammates were this rag-tag group of college running rejects and misfits, but we had a passion for life and made the most out of every minute that we could. Hell, even our coach was a character who was always fast with a joke or prank. No wonder I miss those days. I think I laughed more in that first year than I have in the last twenty. From hog-tying a freshmen teammate to hitchhiking in Ashland, Oregon to calling up Pat Porter after one too many to wish him good luck to eating $2 burritos to dashing out of bushes with no socks to being lost on a 20 mile run in Tahoe to jelly donuts after a Sunday long run, those are the memories that flood my mind each every time I lace up and crank out a few miles.

So as I sit here and go back in time, here's to you, all my SSU teammates and thank God we have moved beyond Lucky beer! Although, I think I will heat up some nachos in the microwave and tune into Cheers on the cable and laugh a little.

Back to Square One

Well, it's back to square one. That seems to be the story of my post 40 adventures in running, however, it is Sunday, it is sunny, and I get to run. Slow and easy and feeling like a newbie. But hey, the foot is a little tender, but other than that, it felt good. I am definitely finding that the older I get, the more and more I appreciate those days that I get to feel the sun on my back and the coolness of a sweat soaked t-shirt clinging to my torso. Even a little chub rub is not that bad at this point.

So since I am coming off of a plantar fasciitis injury, I thought today I would share a link to arguably the best over 40 distance runner in America, Pete Magill's article in Running Times on stretching and injury prevention exercises that all of us should be implementing in our daily training. Enjoy the reading and as always, stay healthy and keep running. Running Times Magazine: Magill on Masters: Mastering Common Injuries
runningtimes.com

Still Love It

Tomorrow is going to be an exciting day; I get to run again! Two weeks turned into three and a bad bone bruise morphed to plantar fasciitis and all my plans to work on core and cross train went flying out the window. Bottom line, I hate the bike. There is just some places a man should not have calluses! (Sorry to all my friends who ride, it just is not my thing.) So that means tonight will be a restless night. To make matters worse, I even bought a new pair of Nike Lunar trainers to celebrate and I can't wait to try those bad boys out on the trail.

Now comes the hard part. The next two weeks I need to reel myself in and limit my running to just a few miles each day. With the Masters World Masters just eight weeks away, as much as I wanted to go into the meet in the best shape of my post 40 self, it just is not going to happen. Six weeks is just to short of a time to round into great shape. However, it is plenty of time to drop a few pounds, put in some really great runs, a few track work-outs and get excited to venture onto the track for the first time since 1993.

Last weekend I watched "The Rookie" with my kids and when the part in the movie when Jimmy Morris' wife asked him if he still loved playing baseball, I literally teared up. My oldest daughter looking at me like I was from some distant planet, blurts out, "are you crying?!" Allergies. Bottom line, I still love this crazy sport. It doesn't matter if I finish dead last and get lapped multiple times, I am going to still love every minute of sweating out lap, after glorious lap in the mid-July Sacramento night heat. I may not get to play baseball, but I do get to run. So tomorrow morning when I wake up and step out the back door, I am going to smile, thank God, and know, once again, I get to do what I love to do. I may have been knocked down with this injury, but not out.

So it is off to get some rest and dream of pulling on that blue USA singlet, lacing up those Nike racing flats and being grateful that after 30 years of running, I still get to be that same 14 year old kid for a few minutes who dreamed big and ran for the pure fun of it. As always, stay healthy and keep running.

Cortisone

Well, I went to the podiatrist today for my follow up visit from two weeks ago and he was a little concerned that I was still feeling pain, even though I have not ran a step since I saw him. "Sounds like we should take an X-ray!" So, down the hall I went to do a little foot modeling. Lo and behold, my little right foot put on a show. Not one, not two, but three little jagged bone spurs now make my heel bone sparkle and a hot inflamed plantar fascia stole the show. At least there was no little cracks in the heel bone.

Of course the first question out of my mouth was, "How soon can I run?" In which the doc responded with, "Do you want the needle?" No hesitation.

Now, I have had several cortisone shots before and I am well acquainted with that hot, burning liquid oozing into your every fiber of enlarged nerve endings, but today was one new adventure I was not prepared for! As the nurse unsheathed the blade of flaming juice to penetrate my flesh and bone, I gasped at how long the instrument of torture was. Then when the doc prodded my unsuspecting muscular structure, I could have swore I was going to both crap and piss blazing fluids. Holy sweet mother of all that is good, that stinking hurts! My nostrils flared. My sphincter tightened. My tongue swelled. Sweat formed on my brow as my life flashed before me. Grunting and moaning, hoping nothing came out as a wildebeest in heat, I clenched the armrests of the medical chair, hanging on to a thread of pride in order to not cry. With every plunge of the needle, I prayed that I would not need any toilet paper as I writhed in place. Nothing like a grownn man straining to keep his entrails and their contents in their proper place. Finally, after what seemed an infinite course in the demonstration of ancient torture techniques, the slithering metal snake slipped from my heel and I could once more breath.

So here is hoping that by the end of the week I will be able to run a few miles each day for a week or two and be back to full training soon. So, I raise up a toast to you old magical friend to athletes, cortisone, and here is hoping that your potion of healing will do its trick. This old man is itching to get back out there on the trails, canals and soft surfaces.

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and here is hoping that you will never have to experience the cortisone blues.

Young Guns

What a great weekend of racing. The Penn and Drake Relays, Payton Jordan Invite, a local Half Marathon and our city championships track meet between our three local high schools. It is so much fun to watch the young guns out there giving every ounce of energy, sweating, and pushing themselves to the extremes of their physical potential. Scores of personal records set the tone for the day. One former athlete after over a year of struggling with a severe leg injury bounced back to his old self winning both of his races and setting a pr in the mile. A current athlete that I coach set a school record with his pr in the mile and then came back to win the 800 with a big kick over the last 100. Nothing like a super tight finish to get a coach to have a stroke on the infield. And yet another ran pr's in both the mile and 800! Best of all, an athlete that I have had the privilege of coaching for the past couple of years capped off his senior year with a huge pr in the two mile. As much as I love to compete, coaching and watching this young men fall in love with the sport and strive for excellence is what makes this such a wonderful sport to participate in.

So to all the Mission Oak, Tulare Union and Tulare Western distance runners, well done. Well done my young friends. May you find as many years of joy in running as I have and from all of us that have gone before you, we are very proud of you! Long may you run and swift be your strides.

Inspiration

I got a great message from my former high school teammate Shannon a few days ago about how I inspired her to sign up and run in this year's World Masters Championships. I have to say, it was one of the coolest things that has happened since I started writing this blog and have ventured into the world of masters running. The funny thing is, the very people who have mentioned my running as being inspirational are the ones who are inspiring me each and every day I am out there cruising along putting one foot in front of the other. And I cannot think of anyone more inspirational than my former, soon to be teammate again, Shannon.

In high school, we were both the two best cross country and distance runners on our team. We both went on to be NCAA Division II All American distance runners in track, we both had set backs in college but bounced back with a vengeance, and we both are now teachers. And, we still love that same crazy sport we took up so many years ago. But, best of all, when you run with Shannon it is sure to be a great time of good stories and laughs. The girl knows how to have a good time while pounding the miles.

I think what makes Shannon so inspirational, is that she never focuses on what she has done, but what you are doing. Running, as communal of sport that it is, is also a very selfish sport, and most runners tend to only talk about themselves. Shannon, even way, way, way back in high school was always talking to you about what you were going to do and offering up kind words of encouragement. In fact, I really do wish I had a dollar for every time I have heard her say, "You can do it!" Even while warming up on the grass inside the track, if you were racing, she was cheering you on while doing her strides or stretching.

So Shannon, I just want to say thank you for your kind words and to let you know, in the 30 years that I have been a runner, you are the most inspirational runner I have ever met and I am proud and honored to have been your team mate. You are one of the kindest, warm-hearted individuals that I know. Thank you for the years of encouragement, cheers and laughter. Your husband and kids are very blessed to have you and so are all of us who make up your running family. I look forward to cheering you on as we take on the world in July!

As always, stay healthy, and keep running. Oh yeah, don't forget to thank those truly inspirational people in your life!

Silver Lining

Okays so I am out of commission for the next two weeks to let this blasted heel bone bruise heal up. No running, just a ton of ice, ibuprofen, and stretching. Core work, weights and the bike will be my friend. I'm not a big fan of cross training, so I will consider it a necessary evil to toe the line in July. So be it. It is what happens when old gray stallion thinks he is still a young bronking buck.

The silver lining in all of this is today my Team USA singlet and shorts arrived! I may not be that fast anymore, but I will at least look the part. I have to say, I was pretty jazzed to rip into the ups package to try on those navy blue shorts and top. I even slipped on my racing flats as I stared in the mirror. Yeah, I know, vanity is never pretty on an old washed up runner! But hey, you know you would too. So off to ice my heel and dream of two weeks from now when I will lace up again and join you out for a run.

As always, stay healthy, and keep running!

Wounded

Today, instead of lacing up to head out the door, I just finished typing up sub plans so that I can see my podiatrist in a couple of hours. With the World Masters Championships firmly inked on my calendar and my entry paid in full, this is one bucket list item I don't want to miss out on this summer. But I have come up lame in my right foot. So rather than take my chances on my own diagnosis and treatment, I am heading straight to see ol sawbones.

I had an awesome week of training last week. Many miles trodden on soft earthen trails and my feet and legs were in heaven. In fact, Saturday's run felt so good, that I stopped by my old high school track at the end of my run for some drills on the grass. Then disaster struck.

With the warmth of the sun on my back, the soft bed of green grass underfoot, I decided to take off my shoes and do my drills barefoot. With all the hoobabaloo about barefoot and minimalist running these days, I thought a few light drills would be good for the little piggies. My feet ooozed down between the lush green earth carpet as the warm, wet sod blanketed my toes. I felt like a four year old escaping his mommy and bath-time running naked around the yard. However, I forgot I was not a four year old, but a forty-four year old kid who has to wear protective orthotics now in order to keep his crusty white boney toes in-line.

As I finished the drills, laced up and headed for home, I noticed that my right foot felt a little tight. Then later that night, my right heel felt as if someone was taking an ice-pick trying to carve a stinking Swan out it. Ouch! Damn! Plantar Fasciitis! So now it is off to see the podiatrist. At least he knows that I am a runner and that I don't care if I ever walk normal again, I only want to be able to run and right now, I can't. This sucks!

So out the door I go to see the doc and I hope I will see you out on the road, track and trails very soon. Stay healthy and run some miles for your wounded fallen brother.

Still Burning

Man, I have forgotten how the competitive fires can come roaring up, especially when they have laid dormant for so many years. As I was reading through the list of competitors for the upcoming World Masters Champs, I began to recognize names and the desire to run faster and faster and faster kept surging through my being. It was electrifying to say the least. And a little frightening. It has been a long time since I have wanted to run in a race and beat certain people. Welcome back old friend. It has been too long. It has been too, too long indeed.

I have a lengthy 12-13 weeks of training ahead of me and several more pounds to shed, plus two creaky legs that need to stay well oiled and taken care of. The goal is to line up for that first race in good health, as well as the best possible shape I can be in. But, in all honesty, I want to run faster than certain people. I know it sounds petty and childish, but this is racing. This is competition. I like all those guys and will enjoy a few laughs and some cold dark brews afterwards when we are done duking it out on the track. And, I know that they want to beat me too. This is where the fun begins. I want to beat them, they want to beat me and we want to beat anyone that is not wearing the good ol' USA across their chest. We will push our 40 something year old bodies like we are young college bucks, throwing caution to the wind and feel the thrill of being an athlete. The thrill of being a runner. The ecstasy that comes from knowing that for 12 1/2 laps you gave everything you had and left your blood, sweat and tears on that rubber surface with no regrets. Man, I can hardly wait. The fire is still burning!

So out the door I go. Each lap, telephone pole, marker along the path, will represent someone I want to beat. Each day will bring a fresh new vision of passing someone on the homestretch, the white haze that comes over you as you reach deep down in your gut for the final 100 meter kick, reaching for the finish to look over your shoulder to see that you we able to hold off your worthy adversary. Damn, this feels good. This is why I love being a runner. The primal urge to survive. To kill or be killed. The fire still raging inside.

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and I will be dreaming of passing you on the homestretch and then drinking a few cold brews with you as we celebrate another great race!

Spring Has Sprung

Ahhh, the sun is shining, the birdies are chirping, flowers blooming and my stinking nose is running like a leaky faucet in the middle of the night. Ugggh. I love the sun induced sweat that drenches my t-shirt as I gallop along the canals but my poor eyes and nose are having a hard time adjusting to all the pollen in the air. Every other stride I am blowing snot rockets or just simply wiping and flinging clear liquid trying not to hit any innocent bystanders as I scuttle by. Fortunately, my allergy season tends to be a short 2-3 weeks of misery and I am good until harvest season in the fall, when the whole dang process starts anew.

The only thing worst is when I get a sneezing fit in the middle of a run! Holy, stinking cow! Nothing like feeling your insides rip apart and to make a mass exodus through your nostrils. To make matters worse, it always hits mid stride while I am air borne, jerking my body wildly, and I'm praying I don't piss my shorts in the midst of the convulsion. Thankfully, with the warm weather, I sweat like a pig, not that I have witnessed a live swine defy nature and actually sweat, but I am drenched from head to toe, therefore camouflaging any other bodily fluids that have escaped any other body crevices. Oh, the humility of it all.

Yes, spring has sprung and for the next few weeks my body will soak up the sun while my running gear soaks up the body fluids, as well as the terrain I will traverse. It won't be pretty, but it must be done, for such is the life of the allergy suffering runner. So as I reach for the kleenex and lace up the Nike's to head out the door, remember, stay healthy, keep running, and if you see me running towards you, you might want to stay out of rocket range!

Coffee, Doughnuts and Long Runs

I'm up before the rooster to get ready for a long run this morning. Now I know for those hard core marathon and ultra marathon types, my little 12 miles does not constitute as a long run in your books, but for a track guy like myself, anything over 10 miles is an odyssey. According to my students, anything over 400 meters is a cross continental trek! So I guess it just depends on perspective. But one thing is for certain, whether it is 10, 12, 15 or 20, anything over an hour, the old body reacts differently than it does to a quick 6 or 7 mile run. For me that means my digestive tract kicks into hyper-overdrive and wants to purge itself of any unused animal carcass left floating around in the intestines. If I was going to run in some secluded area with plenty of bush to duck into, no problem, but this morning's run will be mostly in town and people tend to frown upon public dumping of toxic waste materials, so it is imperative that I dispose properly of any discarded rectal refuse before hand. Plus, I would like to finish the run with both socks.

Hence, the coffee. What a wonderful miracle drug those Turkish goat herders discovered all those centuries ago. Not only does it perk you up and give you that burst of energy to kick start the day, it has this incredible liquid drano affect on my internal piping that allows everything to flow smoothly, allowing me to step confidently out into the world with a light bounce in my stride as I greet the sunrise! In other words, thank goodness I don't have to worry about squeezing while looking for a discreet place to drop a load. Ahhh, the joys of being a runner.

Some mornings though, the French Roast needs a little helping hand. As a carnivore, yes I am a proud consumer of animal flesh, especially when grilled over an open flame, I need a little extra, extra boost to get the system firing on all eight, so I have to make a little jaunt down the block to the local Donut Factory. Nothing like a little fried flour, eggs and yeast to grease the pipes and sugar to flick the switch to the afterburners. Thus, this morning's blog, with Spring Break in full force, the BBQ has been roaring and well, lets just say, I have probably consumed at least three small pets and a water buffalo worth of red meat and I need to clear the system before the morning task of hitting the pavement. So I am off to make my 75 cent pharmaceutical purchase at the Donut Factory in order to make amy sacrificial offering to the porcelain god and then lace up and head out the door. Hopefully, both socks will remain intact.

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and if I see you out on the road this morning, it will be with a light bounce thinking of the post run doughnut and coffee that will be just for the plain old fun of consuming something delicious.

Dream Deferred

Like many of us, when I was a kid I dreamed of wearing the good ol' USA across my chest in the Olympics or World Championships. I still vividly recall the first time I even saw a race on television when I was nine watching the Montreal Summer Games as Frank Shorter duke it out in the rain with Waldemar Cierpinski of the now defunct East Germany. Mesmerized by what I thought was one of the most amazing things ever, grown men, running around in shorts in the rain, sharing water bottles, yet, wanting to beat the other one to the finish over a 26 mile course. Two years later in 1978 I watched Boston Billy Rodgers win his second Boston Marathon edging Jeff Wells in an epic battle and then the great Duel in the Sun of 1982 as Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley pushed each other to their personal limits. More recently, the clash of the running gods Haile Gebrselassie and Paul Tergat in an amazing finish in the Sydney Games 10,000 or Fermin Cacho kicking his way to a Gold Medal in front of an ecstatic home crowd in the '92 Barcelona Games. These are the moments in athletic history that are forever frozen in my gray matter, inspiring me even to this day when I wake up, lace up, and dream as I head out the door. My dream, to wear my country's singlet and race with what the world has to throw out me from all continents.

I have been blessed and fortunate to have earned two Division II All American awards, compete on some really great teams, meet all my running heros and have raced all over our great country allowing me to have experiences that most people only dream of having. But, I never got the opportunity to wear a red, white or blue singlet with the greatest country on the planet pasted across the chest, USA. There is no regrets, because simply put, I was not fast enough to wear that singlet. But now, now I have a chance to finally wear that singlet.

In the middle of July I will represent our country in the World Masters Athletic Championships in Sacramento, running both the 5,000 and 10,000 meters on the track. At 44 I will finally pull on that blue singlet with those 3 letters, U S A, lace up my racing flats and with pride, run against some of the finest over 40 year old athletes in the world. I know it is kind of corny, but I am really excited about this. I have spent most of this past year chiseling my body back into somewhat of the shape of a runner. Once again, I have begun to have dreams of running in peanut butter and not being able to dig down and find that closing gear in the final stretch of a race. I get excited about how a work out is going to send me to the toilet for an hour or more. I am a runner again. Slower, gray around the temples and less hair on top, but that same guy who dreamed big in his younger days has found himself jumping with joy at the challenge that lies ahead. A dream deferred, but a dream that is going to come to pass.

So as I prepare for the World Masters Championships I want to thank all of my former teammates, coaches, running friends and family for being the inspiration that gets these old legs out the door. As always, stay healthy, keep running and don't give up on those big dreams!

For Love of the Run

Today I had one of the best runs I have had in the last three weeks. It was not very fast. I did not run a new route or run in a new location. The weather was not great, it was cold, windy and wet. Nothing spectacular happened. It was a plain old ordinary one hour run. Plain and simple. However, it was me, a great training partner and a whole hour of bliss. No worries. No stress. No coaching issues to deal with. No pressure to perform at work. Just simply putting one foot in front of the other, simply for the love of the run.

I'm not a huge Kevin Costner fan, but you have to admit, the dude makes decent baseball movies; Bull Durham, Field of Dreams, and For Love of the Game. In all three movies, the main characters burned with a passion for the game of baseball. I was in a For Love of the Game mood today as I was out wistfully scampering along the canals of my hometown reminiscing of how far I have come over the past thirty years in this wonderful sport. Even though my best times are two decades in my trail of dust, I believe the best is still yet to come. After all these years, just like Costner's character Billy Chapel flashes through his career in his final big league game, I too watched my time as an athlete play out before me. The big headed red afro wearing fifteen year old winning his first mile race as a freshman to a senior in college closing out a roller coaster collegiate career with an All American certificate to pursuing fast times and bigger dreams that came crashing down around me. But, all in all, I have to say, I have been blessed and I am proud to call myself a runner.

Its a simple sport. Maybe that is what makes it such an incredible experience to be a runner. It doesn't require any real special skill, just a love to be out in the morning or evening breeze, to laugh with friends, to share a cold dark beer or hot steamy cup of java, to push others to new heights in performance, and to feel the great satisfaction of knowing you gave 110%, yet wondering, could I have given it just a little bit more? Mainly, it is about the love of the run.

Stay healthy, keep running, and keep your love of the run strong.

A Much Needed Break

Wow, it has been two weeks since I last posted anything and it is because of a good cause; a much needed break. After 130 straight days of running and pounding out the miles, a busy work schedule, family obligations and a worn out old body, I needed to take a week off of running.

During my week off of running I did not bother to watch what I eat, didn't care if I slept in, and if I wanted an extra cup of coffee, beer or soda, I had one. In other words, I became an honorary normal middle aged citizen of the republic. Heck, I even complained with gusto about the inefficiency of the government while waiting in line for my custard filled chocolate doughnut and extra bold with chunky grinds at the bottom of the cup. It was a good, wait, take that back, it was a great week.

Alas, when the week ended, I was ready to get back to being what I love to be, a runner. It was a slow and easy week, but it felt good to drag the ol' bones around the canals and trail and feel my legs pound away the miles. The bottom line is, I just don't fit in with normal society. Not that I am some kind of late in life social outcast or freak, it is just that I still love to push myself to see what these two old pasty white legs can do. So at 6:00am this morning, I joyously romped around my favorite hilly course in the rain, smiling the whole way, knowing, that this is what I was created to do!

As always, stay healthy and keep running.

Disappointment

This past Sunday I ran in my second race of the year, a local 2 mile race that is put on to support a great organization that helps troubled teenagers in our area with mental and emotional issues. The race has evolved over the years from a once highly competitive six mile to a two mile fun run and now a highly competitive two mile, drawing some of the best high school and junior college talent from our neck of the woods. And even though I won the 40-49 age group, I was extremely disappointed in my race.

The race also marked the 20th Anniversary of when I became the first person from my hometown to win this race, so I was hoping to have at least set a masters personal best to celebrate, but the prior two weeks have just been disastrous in terms of training. Between illness, work, family and very little sleep, it took just about everything I had to keep the streak going. As I age, I am founding it more and more difficult to just bounce back after being sick and other set-backs. I have just come to grips with hair sprouting out of every little crevice, now I have to be patient with returning to form in my athletic endeavors. Which has me wondering, will I ever return to form? I know I am never going to run as fast as I once did, but I can at least get into decent shape, right? I can still trim down and at least resemble a cheetah on the prowl, right? I know we runners are a bit narcissistic, but is it wrong to want to have that half-starved, castaway frame that mows down competitors like an obese slob at the Home Town Buffet? Is it wrong to want to push against the hands of time and give it the proverbial finger and shout, "Not yet! I'm not done!"? Is it wrong to still want to at least improve on what I did yesterday? And the day before?

An 11:52 is a humbling experience for a person who has gone sub 9:00 for two miles, even if it has been almost twenty years since I ran that time, it still defines how I view myself as a runner. I find it hard to look in the mirror and see the middle-aged guy stare back at me at times. He is not sub 9, sub 15 and so on anymore. I tell myself that I have come to terms with who I am and celebrate that I am 44, healthy and still enjoy one of the greatest gifts God has given me, the ability to run. But honestly, Sunday, I was disappointed. When the younger runners ran away so effortlessly and I could not even respond, I knew then, my running life has changed forever. I would be a liar, if I did not say that this cut deep into the core of my running soul.

So as I learn to be content with the shadows of who I was as a runner, I lace up and head out the door and dream of a new me and what that new aging runner might be able to accomplish. My disappointment will pass, but my love for this sport burns brighter and hotter than ever before and it is time to pound some miles. As always, stay healthy, keep running and I hope to see you at the races soon. Don't think for a moment that I am going to stop racing!

Forever Fast

I just watched this video this morning on Masters Track and Field and it reminded me of why I love this sport. Although we are slower, can't jump as high or far or throw into the outer limits as we once could, we can still run, jump, hurdle, vault and throw. We are athletes. We are what we were created to be, the body in motion. So for all of you who still wake up and dream of being the best you can be, enjoy! For those of you who are sitting on the sidelines or bleachers, here is your open invitation, come join us, it is still a lot of fun!\

As always, stay healthy, keep running and I hope we get to share fast times, hearty laughs, and some dark brews this summer.

Cocky...

I always loved racing and competing against cocky, trash-talking athletes. It was always like they were trying to compensate for some inadequate ability or something or another. Or maybe they were just so insecure with their own training and racing ability they thought that they needed to resort to silly, childish mind games. Yes, little man, run your mouth! Because I am going to let my feet do my talking, win or lose, fast or slow, come what may, at least it is what it is. More importantly, it is real. It is honest. It is competing with dignity and integrity.

All athletes walk a very fine line between being confident and crossing over to being cocky. A little swagger is beneficial. It lets those whom you are about to go toe to toe with know that you are ready to take on the challenge and bring the heat. However, when one becomes cocky, well, now things start to get interesting. So as I tell my athletes, let 'em talk. Let 'em brag, boast, and carry on like a cackling old hen. When push comes to shove, just rest assure that you have done all that you can and let your feet do your talking. In the end, it doesn't matter who crows the loudest. What matters is that you have done your best and maintained your class, dignity, and reputation. Integrity always trumps cockiness.

So as I swagger out for another day of running, to all those who tend to talk trash, just remember, there are some very confident, quiet, hard training athletes who have placed a target on your back and are taking aim.

Practice What I Preach

Being a teacher and a coach is both challenging and rewarding. I literally love what I do for a living. Each day I am thankful that I get to give back to our community by helping our young people succeed in their endeavors in life. And one is for certain, when you are a teacher, there is never a dull moment. Such as yesterday...

In my English class at the end of the day I was explaining how one can make a story longer by embellishing the facts and being more descriptive in the important details of a narrative piece, when a student said to me, "I'm calling your bluff. You do it." Chuckling to myself, I responded back, "I love to write." At which point they questioned when do I ever write for just the fun of it? Which lead to discussing about a book I have been in the process of writing for several years and this humble blog about my passion of running.

As one who tries to practice what I preach, I know that the best way to teach and coach others is to lead by example and have a strong appetite for that very topic/activity you are sharing with others. I always love it when students tell me stories about obese, chain-smoking, super-size me coaches they have had in youth club sports trying to impart to them their wisdom of healthy living while stuffing another Jumbo-Jack in between gasps for air at each syllable spoken. I even had a colleague at another school I taught at tell me he never reads and that he had not read a novel in years. And yet, this was our department chair for English! Are you kidding me?! How can you expect others to be enriched by reading if you don't get excited about it? How can one point to the heroics of Atticus Finch, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, Holden Caulfield, and Don Quixote if we are not engulfed daily in the beauty of the written word transporting us to new heights of enlightenment?

Which leads to why several times per week I wake before the sun peaks up over the Sierras, fill my cup with that rich, heavenly, dark, steamy brew, and spend time with my good friend Mac. I love to write. Just like my running, I am mediocre at best, but it is one of the few pleasures in life that brings contentment and I can't imagine not doing it. Likewise, as I lace up to head out the door for day 125, I know I can't inspire my athletes to new heights of glory, if I myself did not burn with a driving hunger to run with the gods. Bottom line is, I have to practice what I preach or be silent.

So to all my students and athletes, thank you for inspiring me to be the best that I can be! I too, am a student and each day you teach me the lessons on how to be a better teacher, coach, but more importantly, how to be a better human being.

As always, stay healthy, keep running and remember, you are an inspiration!

Every Damn Day: Part Two

This past week was far from a stellar week of running. It seemed like for most of the week, each step took more and more effort. Nothing really ached or hurt. I was not unmotivated. I even got plenty of rest. But I had no energy. No zip in the legs. Then, to add insult to injury, Friday started with a headache and ended with a sore throat! Saturday was no better. Yet, in spite of it all, I managed to drag by old gray butt out the door and run.

I'm not sure if this means I am really committed to the goals I set forth for myself this year as an athlete or that I am a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. Friday, in the pouring rain, I laced up and ran 3 miles. Or should I say I slogged away at 3 miles just so there would not be a big fat goose-egg in the ol training log. Pounding head, burning throat, and rain soaked chilled to the bone I dragged myself around town when I could have been in a nice NyQuil induced stupor, gazing at the rain falling through the window instead of it showering my feverish body. Yup, I'm a few french fries short.

But alas, a new week awaits. Here is hoping the upcoming days bring forth a better week of running. However, as I look back over the past week, even though it sucked, I still ran. I still remembered that thing that makes me feel alive. I still, even for a few brief moments, followed my passion and chased my dream. It was slow and painful, but still I was, I am and I will be, a runner.

Here is hoping that you stay healthy this week and keep running!

Barely Streaking By

It has been one of those weeks. You know, the kind where each and every morning you wish you could call in sick and just crawl back under the covers until noon. When every student ask you a question and you just want to glare at them and ask sarcastically in your best Clint Eastwood, "Do you feel lucky punk? Well, do you?" Even though the poor sap only wanted clarification on the directions for an assignment. It was a week where I felt I was nothing more than a crazy San Francisco taxi cab driver, darting from one corner of the city to another at breakneck speed, flying over every bump in the road. It was if the whole world suddenly found the fast forward button on the remote and decided that I needed to move about like a squirrel hopped up on Red Bull and Lattes, trying to catch my tail as I spin aimlessly in wild gyrations. Life and work is crashing in all around me. My sanctuary. My peace of mind. My alone time on the trails, track and roads cut to the bare minimum. It has not been a stellar week of running. But, the streak lives on.

So with the hope of a better tomorrow, I will sleep well knowing, that even for just a brief slice of time, I still did that thing that God created me to do; move. I still managed somehow to lace up the Nikes and breathed deep the frozen air as my oxygen rich blood coursed through the old capillaries. Even for a few short miles, I felt the pleasure of being fully alive and remembered that each day, whether a lion or gazelle, hunter or prey, I run.

As always, stay healthy and keep running!

Fans

I get a chuckle out of every time I hear a young athlete use a phrase like, "I don't want to let my fans down" or "I need to put on a show for my fans." Really? Seriously? This is just a local-yocal running event. Fans are people who take off their shirts in -32 degrees, drink copious amounts of cheap beer, yell obscenities at referees, paint their hairy bellies with war paint and don viking horns or fake foam cheese! I have yet to experience a group of people strip off their clothing, wear large foam Nikes on the top of their head, all the while chugging away from a red plastic cup filled with liquid amber gold as I fly buy blowing snot rockets. Now I am not saying that there are not running fans out there, mainly because I consider myself to be a fan of the sport. However, I'm not really a fan of anyone athlete, club or event. Just more of a fan in general. Quite honestly, I don't think anyone really cares if I win or lose a race. And furthermore, I don't really care when some athlete that I admire wins or loses a race. That's the nature of athletics, you win some, you lose some.

This sport is not really about fans. Unlike arena sports like football, baseball, basketball, etc... this sport is about participation and friendship. I have had that great experience of having people cheer for me in the midst of heated competition. There is nothing like it. But in all honesty, when people cheer, it is just white noise. I am so focused on the task at hand I can only decipher one voice, the voice of my coach and or a trusted teammate. One of the things I miss from college is how we used to line up on the back stretch of the track in lane 3 with the distance runners from other schools and cheer on our teammates. Yelling, screaming, taking good natured jabs at the other runners and then all going for a cool down jog together, reliving the last 4, 9, 15 or 30 minutes of racing. We were not fans. We were friends participating in the event together. And that is what makes this sport so darn great. We don't have fans, we have friends.

After all, I would be a little creeped out if some dude, whipped off his shirt, had his buddha belly painted red with my 5k pr, wearing a jock strap on his head yelling at me to pick up the pace, the other runners are gaining on you! So, when I do hear people cheer for me in my local 5k fun run, I know that they are not fans, but my friends. People I personally know, just wishing me the best and likewise, when I cheer for them, win or lose, just wishing them the best. And I get to keep my shirt on! (It is a little hard to paint war paint on an emaciated chest.)

Time to lace up and head out the door for day 117 of the streak! As always, stay healthy, keep running and if I hear you cheering or you hear me cheering for you, we are not fans, we are friends!

Crapping Out My Intestines

I have a saying that I use with my athletes when we have a hard work-out, I say, "Boys, you know you've had a great work-out when you go home and crap out your intestines!" Today I must have had a great work-out running 16 X 400 meter repeats. With a quick dash home from the track, flying through the back door grabbing both Running Times and Track and Field News, this is going to take awhile, not only did I crap out my intestines, I'm sure I felt my spleen and left kidney slip on out as well. By the time it was all said and done, I am sure I was responsible for half of the Brazilian Rain Forrest being chopped down, a new hole in the ozone layer and caused all those who own stock in Charmin to be filthy rich! Talk about your porcelain rodeo! Whooo doggy, I'm not sure which worked over my old body the most, the track or the aftermath? One thing for certain, it wasn't pretty.

Work-outs like today's always fascinate me in how I respond to the distress caused from pushing your body. Although I was running at much slower pace than decades ago, the same effort was put forth as when I was 24 and I found myself being transformed into this Jekyll and Hyde character that only shows up in long, grueling efforts. Today's work-out called for a short 200 meter jog between each 400 repeat, which is not a very long time to regroup yourself, so it forces you to learn to be very economic in your running form and learn to relax during the hard efforts, but once you hit the 200 jog, it is like a drowning man getting is first taste of oxygen rich air as he spews deathly salt laced fluid from his depths. The funny thing is, the 400's are the easiest part on me mentally in the midst of the undertaking. Dr. Jekyll calmly whispers, relax, lift your knees, control, control, you've done this a million times, almost there, relax, there you go." But then on the recovery Mr. Hyde is waiting.

I have never figured out where this sinister alter ego comes from and he never shows up until about a third of the way into the work-out when the body is starting to feel the stress. But without fail, he raises his ugly head and the self-loathing begins. When working out with a group, Mr. Hyde stays just within my head, but when I go at by myself...Without fail, I begin to speak out loud, "Come on b#$*@. You think that hurts, wait until the next one. Come on you dirty filthy b#$*@." Where did this jerk come from and why am I calling myself a female dog? And why am I saying it out loud? Am I going nuts? And for 200 meters the voice of pain and doubt taunts me to give in and give up and then the mental games begin. One more I tell myself, I can gut out one more. Dr. Jekyll reappears and guides me forward, then Mr. Hyde with his evil deeds, mental games, and repeat. No wonder my stomach is turned into a slushy mess.

And so home I go after the task and flush Jekyll and Hyde down the sewer, along with a few feet of my entrails and await until we meet again next week. As always, stay healthy, keep running, and a financial tip, buy stock in toilet paper!

One More Trip Around the Sun

This past week I made my 44th trip around the sun and lo and behold, once more I am asking myself, "where the hell did the time go?!!!" Seriously though, as my body continues to move at a slower pace, time seems to have grown wings and is flying along. It seems like only yesterday I was 43 and here I am 44. Time to purchase some Grecian Formula and Metamucil. Actually adding another digit to the chronological chain is not too bad or alarming. As I look back over the past year, I have been blessed to have once again to have completed another trip around the great track of life and it was filled with some great moments. So here are my top three running life moments of the past year.

Number 3: Completing not once, but twice a streak of 100 days of straight running. The first ended in March at 105 days and my current streak reached 100 days on February 6 and is currently at 112 days and counting. During the current streak I have lost 16-17 pounds, have established a regular training routine that includes a long run, interval training and racing. It is by far the most consistent I have been with my running in over ten years. Now lets see if I can turn all of this running into some new masters personal records.

Number 2: Rocky Hill Long Runs on Saturday mornings. When I think back over the past 30 years of running, I am always drawn back to this one location as the place where my competitive fires were tempered and fortified as my body learned to deal with the demands of task that I chose to pursue. Now as a seasoned veteran of many more miles than I could ever imagine that my body would ever cover, I return each week to pay homage to all the dreams that were birthed, came to pass and died on both freezing cold winter mornings and scorching summer nights engulfed in the citrus aroma that penetrates the senses in the midst of a shower of sweat. Plus, it was on the backside of this central San Joaquin Valley running landmark that the legend of the Albino Kenyan was born.

Number 1: Running at Lake Hodges with my Sonoma State teammate and friend, Phil. Without a doubt, this was the best experience of this past year in my running life. For a few short days in December, I got to experience that feeling of being 21 again as we ran, laughed, and joked as if we were still kids in college. I have been blessed to have known many people over the past 30 years of running, but very few come close to being as such a good teammate and better yet, a great friend than Phil. So Phil, thanks for a great two days of running and taking this old runner down memory lane and reminding me why I love this sport!

So here I go again. Time to begin another year of lacing up the Nikes and heading out to the roads, trails, track and canals to put one foot in front of the other in my favorite fashion, fast. As always, stay healthy, keep running and I hope your running life year is as blessed as my past year was.

PUSH!

Now anytime I hear the word push, I automatically have three flashbacks to the days that my three children made their entrance out into the world. As any of you who have been through the birthing process know, when you take you LaMas classes, the guy's job, while his wife tries to rip his head off his shoulders while pushing out a watermelon from her, well, you know, is to calmly, passionately, lovingly tell his wife to "push." I always wondered where they came up with this little tidbit of wisdom? Is there some recorded incident where a woman just stopped in the middle of labor, packed up her belongings and said, "I've changed my mind. I keeping the little booger inside." Seriously, does a woman really need to be told by the man, to push?!! I've seen that experience up close and personal and I really don't think my wife needed me to whisper softly to her, "okay sweetie, it is time, now push." Sheesh, no wonder she tried to detach my cranium from my shoulders!

As an athlete though, we do need to "push" ourselves in order to be the best we can possibly be. But honestly, there are days that I just don't feel like pushing. There are days where an extra cup of coffee and a big fat doughnut sound like heaven! There are some days that I have to consciously remind myself that I need to "push" myself out the door and in the words of Nike, just do it. But what does it mean to "push" yourself?

Yesterday a high school teammate and friend, Mike sent me the following advice. He mentioned that he came up with an acronym to remind him of why he "pushes" himself to succeed and it is simply PUSH.
P: Pride, take pride in what you have accomplished and what you do.
U: Understand,understand what you are trying to accomplish and why it makes you a better person.
S: Self Worth, know that what you do reflects who you are and how you think of yourself.
H: Honor, try to live your life with honor and dignity.

Being an athlete is not just about being good at an activity. Being an athlete is about being a good, decent human being. It is about Pride, Understanding, Self-Worth, and Honor. So as I head out the door, I am going to remember to "push" myself and savor each step of the way.

Stay healthy, keep running and remember to PUSH your self today.

Bagging It

On Tuesday morning as I stepped out the door to run, I was feeling, well, rather droopy. The legs ached, the eyes blurred, and whatever I ate the night before really did not like all the bouncing around in my innards, as I tried to get the ol' gray horse moving. As a rule of thumb, I try not to make any decisions about my runs until about 2 miles into it. Sometimes I start out feeling like I'm on a death march, only to find myself gliding along effortlessly, humming a tune in my head, and occasionally out loud, enjoying the moment. Other times, I start out feeling great, only to find myself cursing the very thought of one more step as I trudge along, just wishing someone would drive by, throw a brick at me and knock some good sense into my thick skull. But, on occasions, there are days like Tuesday...

From step one I could tell that the morning run was not going to be a good one. Even when I passed the "sexy middle aged" female runners group, I could not pull off a studly prancing stride. I simply grunted a barely audible grumpy old man "good morning" whispering under my breath, "not that there is much good about it!" As I hobbled along by them. Ugggh! All I could think about was that the coffee was brewing and my wife was at home in our nice, soft, warm bed while I am out here with my steamy hot bad breath (unfortunately I forgot to brush my teeth before the run) shooting up my nostrils, my forehead dripping in a pool of saline solution, and hoping that each time my stomach roared, well, lets just say, I was sure hoping my shorts were gonna stay dry! But as I have stated, I have a two mile rule...

Unfortunately, this morning I had decided to take a loop route and by the time I reached two miles I was feeling even more miserable! To make matters worse, the shortest distance back home was exactly two miles. The plan had been to run 8-10 miles, but I decided to bag the morning run and send the horse to the glue factory. Finally, I dragged my achy butt on home, poured a cup of coffee, I would have crawled back into bed, but my wife has this thing where if I am sweaty, I am not to get near her or back in the bed, sheeesh, and called it a running day. All before the sun peeked its little rays of sunshine over the Sierras to wake up the rest of civilization.

One of the lessons that I am learning as an aging athlete, in which momma never said there would be days like this, is that some days, the poor old body just can't muster up the energy and strength for the task, or at least for the task to be easy or enjoyable. I still managed to log day 102 and I did feel better on day 103, but as I head out the door here in a few minutes, I wonder...

Marathon Man

www.npr.org/2011/02/08/133600374/Marathon-Man-Completes-Yearlong-Quest

As my wife was driving home from work yesterday, she was listening to NPR and heard the following story about 49-year-old Stefaan Engels of Belgium completed his 365th marathon, in 365 consecutive days. Now that I have completed 100 straight days, my feat seems pretty darn small in comparison! But, like Stefaan, I want to inspire people I know in my community to live active healthy lives. So today, enjoy this brief interview from the NPR link above and hopefully I will see you out on the roads, trails, canals, or track!

By the way, if I could get a couple of companies to sponsor me for one year, I would attempt the same feat! Hmmmmm, maybe something to add to the bucket list. Stay healthy and keep running.

Every Damn Day

It only seems like a few days ago that I started my current streak of 100, but in a few minutes I will head out the door and make it officially 100 straight days of putting one foot in front of the other in my favorite fashion, fast. This time around, compared to the last streak of 100 that I did last year, I have been able to run at a much higher level. Over the past couple of months I have been able to increase my weekly mileage load, add weekly long runs, incorporate fartleks, a track session and run in a couple of races. Even though I still have a long journey ahead of me between now and July as I prepare for the World Masters Track and Field Championships, this past 100 days has been an awesome ride!

To celebrate my 100th day of running, yesterday, after running day 99, I decided to stop by the local Nike Outlet and purchase a little memento for the occasion. As I perused the bustling aisles, my eye was struck by a stack of t-shirts of varying shades of hue and lo' and behold, there it was, the perfect piece of swag to celebrate. Fumbling through a stack of gray, (Why gray? Why not red, blue, orange? Have you seen what old guy sweat does to shirts of real color?) I found one of my size. Eureka! And there it was in large bold print, for everyone who will see me huffing and puffing on the trail, they will know that I run "Every Damn Day!"

The funny thing is, there was another t-shirt that I liked much better, but I figured I am too far past my prime for it. Again, in large bold print it read, "Kicking Your A#% One Step at a Time!" I loved it! If I was 23 instead of 43, I would have bought it. In fact I had it in hand, as it was buy 2 for $20, but as the old saying goes, act your age not your shoe size, I put it back on the rack. Since my shoe size is 13, the last thing I want is people thinking I behave like a little pubescent, hormonal, awkward man-child. Besides, I haven't kicked anyone's arse for over 10 years and I am learning how to take an arse-whooping with my dignity still in place. It is a humbling experience being an older athlete. After all, that is the point, I am an older athlete. More importantly, I am an athlete "every damn day." I still enjoy being active, healthy, and seeing what my body is capable of doing.

As I lace up, head out the door and savor every stride of day 100, I hope you have found a way to still be an athlete "every damn day" and are enjoying this crazy journey called life to its fullest. Stay healthy, keep running, and hopefully I will see you on the roads, trails and at the races.

Playing Track

After watching this video it reminded me of all the times I would be in the middle of an extremely hard work-out and my teammate Chip and I would start playing track. Having grown up in the Golden Age of the European track seasons of the late 70's and early 80's I got to witness some remarkable Dream Mile races. When the distress would set in and we would reach a point where we thought it might be unbearable as the lactic acid monkey jumped on our backs, one of us would muster the strength to break out in our best pseudo British accent and begin to announce our work-out as the Dream Mile.

There are so many miles that mind drifted to some exotic European track where I was representing the good ol' USA, like Steve Scott, leaving the likes of Coe, Ovett, and Cram in the wake of my dust. For some strange reason, by allowing our minds to drift off into the fantasy of being world class mile runners we could somehow manage the extremes of training and when we finished, with contorted bodies bent over and grasping our knees, sucking in every last ounce of oxygen our exhausted lungs could handle, we managed to let out a full bodied chuckle at our exploits defeating the world's best. Those were good times. Good times.

So Chip, this video is for you and all the adventures we had dreaming of being the best the world had ever seen.

Sexy

Before I get too far into today's musings, I just need to say that I think that my wife is the most beautiful woman I have ever met and I find her just as stunning and sexy today as I did the first time she grabbed my attention by trying to attract me by taking up running. I can still see her coming out of her dorm room in her split red running shorts, blond hair pulled back in a pony-tail and just flat out looking hot. Sooooo, sweetie, don't take part of today's blog wrong, I still only have eyes for you.

So I was out running in the fog again yesterday morning at the ungodly hour of 5:00 am when a few miles into my run I see the silhouette of five figures moving somewhat quickly towards me. It is already creepy running in the fog and dark, but this, this really got my heart pumping. Scanning the area for an escape route if these ghostly figures prove to be dangerous, I began to plot my defense plan. Would I lead them on a wild chase? Should I squeal like a little girl? Or maybe, I should pretend that I am the white Mr. Miyogi and go Karate Kid on them? I had a feeling that if these fast approaching beings proved unfriendly it would be a combination of the first two, running away screaming! But in the next few moments I realized that these strangers in the early morning mist were not foul creatures looking for trouble.

Like any red-white and blue blooded man, I just experienced one of the sexiest things in my life. Five middle aged, fit, tight wearing (without bulges) women, between 30-40 years old went running past me! Now, now I was wishing they would mug me! Pure sexiness. Sweat dripping from their foreheads, heavy rhythmic breathing, and me telling myself over and over, "I'm a married runner, I'm a married runner." And in a flash, they disappeared into the morning fog.

Now I am thinking, I wonder if middle aged running chicas find me sexy? There is a certain amount of vanity that comes along with being an athlete, especially runners. Seriously, I'm afraid that my running tights make my butt look too big. When someone is approaching me on a run, I always make sure that I straighten up, wipe the slobber from my chin and try to look as effortless as possible in my stride while picking up the pace. I even brush my teeth and comb what little is left of my hair. And I must admit, although, I don't buy matching running gear, I try to color coordinate what I am running in. If I can't run fast anymore, I should at least look good! I mean, heck, I want middle aged women to be jealous of my wife and think, "I wish my husband still looked like that!" Or, "mmmmmm, look at that butt" as I gallop by, smiling and waving with my one eyebrow raised in mischief.

Well, it is time to lace up and head out the door! I'm not too sure if I am still sexy or if even I once was, but don the tights I will this morning, hoping my butt is not too big and pound out some miles. As always, stay healthy, keep running and for all you hot middle aged running babes out there, just to let you know, I am not available, I am a very, very happily married man, but you can enjoy the window shopping!

I'm a runner

Okay, so while I was surfing the web today I came across this video. I sure hope I am not this guy!!!! And if you know me and if I am, please shoot me the next time you see me out on the roads!

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and please don't bore the crap out of your colleagues.

Bucket List

There is a great new show on MTV called the Buried Life, I know, I know, what are you doing watching MTV at 43? I have three teenage children, so yes, I do think most of what is on MTV is pure mind-numbing and painful to watch, I mean, what happened to actually showing music? But this show is actually really good! For those of you have not seen it, here is the premise of the show: four young guys in their early twenties are traveling across the good ol' USA and Canada trying to carry out their top 100 Things To Do Before They Die List. Not only that, as they try to accomplish one of their To-Do items, they help someone else in that location accomplish one of theirs as they do man on the street interviews, always asking the same question, "What do you want to do before you die?"

My favorite episodes so far include Making a Toast at a Stranger's Wedding, Help Deliver a Baby, and Breaking Into the Playboy Mansion, with the Toast being my favorite. I think I might need to add that to my list before I die. I've seen my children being born, so, nope, been there, done that, and well, lets just say, it was not my cup of tea! And since I am a happily married runner, I think I will pass on trying to sneak into Hugh's happy little romper pad. So what has all this to do with running? Well, last week I read about another 40+ runner, dealing with the effects of Father Time and had decided he is going to approach the next couple of years in a Bucket List kind of fashion. This got me to thinking, what are some of the things I want to do in my running life before I fall into the old pine box?

So here are the Top Ten Running Life Bucket List Items that I would like to do before I die:
1) Wear a USA uniform in an international track meet.
2) Run with the greatest runners in the world, the Kenyans, on a training run in Eldoret, Kenya.
3) Qualify and run the Boston Marathon.
4) Race a 5,000 or 10,000 meter race one more time at Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon.
5) Run in the London Marathon.
6) Race in a 3,000, 5,000, or 10,000 meter in a European track meet.
7) Run to the top of One Tree Hill in Auckland, New Zealand.
8) Run everyday for an entire year.
9) Break 5 minutes for the mile for the rest of my 40's.
10) Coach at the 4 year college level.

These are my top ten Running Life Bucket List Items. Some I am in the process of scratching off, others, well, it is going to take awhile. This running life has been such an exciting and wonderful experience over the past 30 years and I cannot imagine what it would be like to not be able to wake up and be able to lace up my sweat-soaked Nikes and head out into the world to explore all the possibilities that lie ahead as I pound out the miles. The best part is, I didn't do it alone. I have so many memories that were and are being created with some of the greatest friends a runner can have. My hope and prayer is, that as I begin to cross these items off over the next several years, many of you will get to share that experience with me. It really is a blessed life to be a runner, and better yet, to be part of a community of runners.

It is time to lace up and head out the door! As always, stay healthy, keep running, and I ask, what do you want to do in your running life before you die?

Il Est Bon!

I was talking to a guy I work with yesterday morning who has recently decided he was going to take his running a little more seriously this year. As we were talking he mentioned that he gets up at 5:00am and by 5:15 he is out the door and is happily on his way down the street. Naturally, the conversation then turns to me and I reply, I usually get up between 4:00am and 4:30am, at which he exclaimed "wow, no wonder you can run so much!" Chuckling, I told him I'm not out the door until 5:30am. So now, he thinks I am stretching and doing some kind of other pre-running fitness routine...

I do have a routine that I follow each morning when I wake at the crack of dawn and it is vital to my morning runs, when I run in the morning, I have been fortunate these past 5-6 weeks to be able to run in the sunlight, even though my legs are still rather a whiter shade of pale. As I stumble out of bed, grabbing my hoodie-sweatshirt, I have one, single track objective, as I stroll past the bathroom (that little business can wait a minute) into the kitchen and open the cupboard to feast my eyes upon my choices of beautiful little black beans to be grind and brewed. Shall it be Italian? Molto bene! Maybe a Kenyan roast? Maisah marefu! Or my personal favorite, a rich dark, earthy French Roast? Il est bon!!! Oui, oui! Ahhh, the sweet aroma of the nectar of the gods! Gleefully, I do a little jig as the steamy brew fills the kitchen air, anticipating that first glorious sip, with just a touch of cream...my poor middle aged tummy is finding it a little hard to drink it straight these days. Joyfully, my fingers do their little tap dance around the warming porcelain vessel in which my lips quiver in passionate suspense for that initial moment of pure liquid ecstasy of the maiden sip of the new dawn. Ahhhh, il est bon, il est bon...

When one is carrying out a love affair, it should never be in haste! As I sit in the stillness, wrapping my precious love in my ever so gentle embrace, I savor the moment, allowing my lips every few moments to taste the tenderness of the warmth of her love for me. And being French, well, she does know how to love me!!! My Italian lover is a little more sassy and my Kenyan, well, she makes me dream of wild, far off adventures. But alas, the cup is empty, our fling is over, however, my other lover, she is over in the corner waiting to be "tied up."

So it is time to lace up, head out the door and run some miles! As always, stay healthy, keep running, and enjoy a rich dark roast cup of love.

Fog

One of the drawbacks of living in the central San Joaquin Valley is the tule fog that engulfs us every winter from late November to early February. We even have a local race appropriately named the Tule Fog Run. Most of the fog season it never gets too bad, but the last couple of days has been unreal! I literally cannot see more than 3-4 feet in front of me, which is rather frightening, considering that when I cross streets, if I can't see that far going as slow as I do, then how can a car traveling much faster than I am, see me? Common sense forces me then to run on the local trail and canals, which makes the run really interesting.

Normally I love running on the soft surfaces of the side of the Santa Fe trail, the hard packed dirt of all the local canals and dirt farm roads between fields. However, when you can't see beyond the reach of your hand, things get a little, shall we say, spooky. One of the effects of a thick blanket of tule fog is that it muffles all the surrounding sounds and intensifies your own contribution to the audible world around you. So as I glide along in the dark gray haze of my own personal "Twilight Zone," (I expect the ghost of Rod Sterling to pop out with his cigarette at any moment!) my mind registers every little crack, thump, and muffled footstep at a 120 decibels. Thus, my heart begins to race at twice its normal speed as my brain matter tries to decipher if the thudding of the crisp dew laden leaves is from my own pedestrian effort or that of some ravenous rabid rodent?! Seriously, you should see the size of the opossums we have around here? I swear they must eat small dogs, sheep and wandering gypsy children. Therefore I fling myself into the moist sunless morning, praying that I will make it out alive. It is mornings like these that I wonder, "would it not just be better to pour another cup of coffee?" But alas, my mistress calls.

Out the door I go. As always, stay healthy, keep running, and if you see Rod Sterling, know that you have crossed over through space and time and are now in a dimension, known as, the Running Zone.

Running on Empty

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields
In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up one-o-one
I don't know where I'm running now, I'm just running on
"Running on Empty" by Jackson Browne

I can't say I was 17 in '65, although, I was 17 for a short while in '85, but lately I find myself looking back at the nearly 30 years that I have spent in this sport and I still see that 17 year old kid, full of wonder and potential, out soaking up the sun, running the same canals, dirt roads and even the same track that I do today. The bushy hairdo is long gone, the shorts longer, and the socks shorter, but that starry-eyed dreamer is still out there. Just like over 25 years ago, each day is an adventure that is just waiting to unfold and each run offers up a new opportunity to succeed or if the running gods see fit, a setback. Some days I feel 17 again and others, like today, I am sore and tired and it feels like I am running on empty. But, I know I need to keep running on. So as I click off Jackson, lace up and head out the door, I'm not too sure where I'll be running, but I do know, I am still running on!

So if you tempt me with your kindness, just know I can't stick around as I am running on. Stay healthy and keep running on.

Nightmare on Channel Drive

Uggh. I woke up in a pool of my own sweat again! My heart pounding, trying to jump out my throat! Wildly glaring into the darkness of the early morning stillness I had to remind myself it was only a dream. It was only a dream. However, it was a dream that is occurring more frequently lately and one I have not had since the early 90's when I was running in college. And no, it was not my running around town in my tighty-whities giving everyone a thumbs up as I grin mischievously at them dream. It was the "Nightmare."

I first remember having the nightmare in the fall of 1990. It was my break-out year of my college career and I was enjoying a great season of pr's and success as our team marched forward to our first and only appearance at the NCAA's in cross country. As a leader and the number two guy on our team, I felt a great responsibility to show up and give 110% at work-outs, long runs and races. I had made up my mind that nobody was going to work harder, cheer louder, or want our team to succeed more than I was. Hence, I do believe that this is what formulated the dark demons in the back of my mind to concoct the hideous dream that would haunt me several nights a week for the next 2-3 years.

It always started the same, I would be out running in tranquil peace along Channel Drive in Annadel State Park in Santa Rosa. The deer were prancing, the fluffy bunnies bounding along playfully, and the birds singing in the glorious sun-filled dawn as I scamper along playfully enjoying the promise of the new day. Then as I turn onto the trail to head up the long path up to the lake I notice that the loose gravel is little more difficult to navigate and my pace begins to slow, my Nikes sinking further and further into the adobe clay! As the trees begin to close in on me I could feel their crusty tentacles reach for me as the incline of the trail grows steeper with each stride. In a moment of panic I break free of the treeline to find the trail racing up the side of the mountain. Where did this mountain come from?!!! There is no mountain here! But onward I try to run. The incline has become so steep that I can walk faster than I can run as my quads burn with the liquid fire of lactic acid and the pounding of the blood coursing through my veins screams for release. As the saline sea pours from every crevice of my body, I am drenched in my own body fluid as the trail has reduced me to a crawl on my hands and knees. Why am I crawling? I am a runner. But crawl I must to reach the summit as it slowly comes into view and yet...as I reach for the top, I topple backwards, falling into the abyss in silence, except for the wretched beating of my athletic heart!

Waking, I rise up in bed to stare into the darkness, my heart pounding, sweat soaked sheets kicked from the bed, it was only a dream. My wife is unaware of the terror I just experienced as she lies peacefully in her own dream world. After nearly twenty years, why has the nightmare returned? Is it because I care again about giving 110%? Am I having some kind of runner's mid-life crisis? Have the running demons in the back of my head been awakened after lying dormant for two decades to once again wreck havoc on my athletic psyche? Perhaps I will never know. But the morning calls. Time to lace up and head out for the morning run. And perhaps I might turn upon a trail that leads up a hill, I will reach the top.

As always, stay healthy, keep running and remember, it was only a dream!

Naked Quarters and Fartleks

I know the title sounds like a bad college drinking game, but this week was a return to a normal training cycle that included for the first time in eons, a track work-out and a fartlek session. For those who are unfamiliar with the word fartlek, it has nothing to do with the human exhaust system blowing out biofuel! It is a Swedish word that literally means "speed play." The only problem is that it did not seem like I was playing.

I am ecstatic that I was able to get to the track and attempt to turn the ol gray knobby knees over at a quick pace, however, oh man, I don't remember it taking so much effort! And to be honest, the first two 400s I wore my watch, but as soon as I saw the pace, I gasped in horror and stripped the filthy liar from my wrist! How dare it say that I run so slow. To avoid the cruel humiliation that this digital keeper of time would mock me with, I decided it would be best to plunge forward with a focus on form and effort and banish it from my flesh. Although, the damage was done. The smirk of the clock lingered in the dark corners of my mind and at the end of each repeat would whisper "you have slowed down, old man." Trudging on naked, I tried to keep in mind to take it for what it was, a first work-out.

With Monday's work out still haunting me on Wednesday, I decided there was no way I was going to let it by my defining moment of this week's training so I decided a little Swedish speed play would be just the remedy. Free of the rigid parameters of the 400 meter chevron squirrel cage, I was free to frolic at will for the predetermined time frame. However, I forgot to keep in mind that my athletes are over twenty years younger and discovered that they too, like a little Swedish speed play. As we flew along it was all fun and games. That was until the next morning.

I'm having a little trouble walking. I didn't know my legs could be so stiff. I didn't even know I had muscles in my toes that could have spasms. Have you ever looked down to see you pinky toe twitch? It is a little unsettling. But the weirdest thing of all, I am actually feeling pretty darn good. I got out and put in two good work-outs, a long run and have kept the streak alive! Each rigid step is a reminder that I am still a runner and I am on my way to my goal in July. I'm just hoping I will regain the feeling below my naval again in the next few days.

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and add a little Swedish speed play to your running days!

The Mile

It never fails, every time someone finds out that I am a runner I am immediately asked the same two questions; have I ever ran a marathon and how fast can I run the mile? For some reason, if I am crazy enough to rise at the crack of dawn to run a countless number of miles and look like I haven't ate in several months I should be training for a marathon. These well meaning souls typically look at me puzzled that I actually enjoy running around half naked in the wee morning hours just because it is what I do for kicks! I try to explain to them that, even though I have ran several marathons, I compete in all types races: cross country, road races, and track. Then in my poor attempt to convey how my college 1500 meter time is equivalent to a 4:15 or so mile and that I was considered slow and there are high school kids who could have kicked my tail, they remark, "Wow, you almost broke 4 minutes! That is almost world record!" Trying not to chuckle, I usually let them know that the world record is now roughly 3:43 and that I was a "mile" behind.

Now, like most distance runners, my first love was the mile. There is something magical about running the mile when you are a distance runner. Even if your primary event is not the mile, everything we do is based on the mile: How many miles do we run? What is our per mile pace? How many miles is my race? The mile is the cornerstone distance for us who lace up, head out the door and pound out, what else, miles! As a freshmen in high school in the spring of 1982, the very first race I ran on my high school track team on a warm, beautiful gray smoggy spring day in Riverside, California, was the mile. Running a respectable 5:06, I knew I had to break 5 minutes. A few weeks later, with several teammates lining the backstretch of a dirt track in San Bernadino, with our team captain Mike holding a large bush over his head, as they chanted "Tumbleweed!, Tumbleweed!" I won my first varsity race in a blazing 4:59 and my love affair with "the mistress" began.

Even though I eventually went on to be a much better 5,000 and 10,000 meter runner, I always secretly envied my teammates who were mile runners and jealous of their ability to churn 60 second quarters as if they were merely taking a Sunday stroll. Yet, I take solace in the fact that I have always been able to run sub 5 for the mile in every decade of my life since I have taken up this insane running life. That is, until this decade!

To not run sub 5 is kind of eating at the core of who I am as a runner. I use to average under 5 minutes per mile for 10k and low 5's for anything over 10k! Ok. Yeah, I know, I am way over my old racing weight, gray in the temples and not exactly in the spring of life. But hey, March is only a few months away and with it, the promise of a new track season with new possibilities! What does that mean? It means it is time to find some mile races for the ol' pale legs to remember the glory days of the 80's and go sub 5 once again. And to put the right carrot in front of me to stay focused, I have just entered an indoor mile race in late February. No backing out now.

There you have it. My first time goal of 2011, to go sub 5 in the mile! It more than likely will not be in February, but it will be a starting point and give me a framework in order to structure my training to prepare for World Masters in July. As always, stay healthy, keep running and here is to the promises of Spring!