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!

Weed-Tumble!

One of my favorite past times while running with my boys that I coach, is telling stories about the exploits of glory and fame from my own super funky fast youth. Now I come from the generation of parachute pants, black Trans-Ams, and big hair, which means we wore Dolphin running shorts, candy striped singlets with matching tube socks. It was not our greatest moment in running fashion. Thank God Nike came to their senses and created the more eye-pleasing Dry-Fit running gear I now enjoy. Which brings us to today's blog topic, Tumbleweed.

As anyone who grew up in the late 70's and 80's can attest, white men wore afros. Now your average white, anglo-saxon, protestant male had to go to a hair salon and pay ridiculous amounts of hard earned cold cash to add some chemical curl to their head. I, on other hand, was born with a bushy head of red-orange nappy curl, that naturally could be picked out into an afro. Therefore, during my 8th grade year, one of my basketball team mates bestowed upon my original nickname, Cousin Tumbleweed. By the time my sophomore year rolled around, my dubious moniker had been downsized to a more manageable Tumbleweed. Even today, over 30 years after the first utterance of this follicle label, I will be out running and some guy from the decade of Prince, Michael Jackson and Duran-Duran will shout out their window from their speeding Japanese made mini-van, "Tumbleweed!!!"

Now during this time period at my high school Alma Mater, Tulare Union High School, our track coach was one tiny, spark plug of a Baptist preacher of the name of Jerome Milton. Rather than the win one for the Gipper or profane laced football analogy, our well groomed, tie and vest, and shiny winged-tipped loafer wearing Coach Milton would fire us up with his version of a track revival sermon. Complete with plenty of "holla backs." It was if Jake and Elwood were giving us the divine message that we were meant to run faster, throw farther and jump higher than any other hormonal fueled adolescents that we came into contact with on the track. We were on a mission from God.

Never short on words and quick to call his athletes to step up to the challenge that faced them for that particular day, he would make sure he had our attention by calling us by name in front of our whole team and for me, as our top mile and 2 mile runner that meant calling me out by no other name than that of Tumbleweed. However, in his rapid fire oral firestorm just before our league championship my sophomore year, he jumbled up the syllables and blurted out "Weed-Tumble, we are counting on you in the two!" Although we had had several conversations before this moment, it was the first time he had called me out and to make the whole moment totally awkward, he got my identity wrong. "Weed-tumble? Who was Weed-tumble? Wait, he means me! Crap, now everyone knows that coach expects me to step up the challenge and deliver big time." I was given a mission. Maybe not from God, but a mission none the less.

Long story short, I ran nearly a minute pr in the next to last race of our league championship with a 10:15 two mile, helping put our varsity team in position to capture a league title. However, in the last race, we were unable to pull out the team victory, but nothing could beat jogging up to Coach Milton after that race and hear him exhort. "Well done Weed-tumble, well done."

What's the Point?

My crowning achievement as a collegiate athlete, was when I earned my All American certificate for the 5,000m and 10,000m at the NCAA Division II Championships in 1992. I had spent four very long, but fun and exciting, years training and racing to acquire a piece of parchment paper to validate my efforts as an athlete. At my small, tiny university, during the time I was there, I was surrounded by three All American teammates, an All American assistant coach, and our coach was a 6-7 time All American and two time Olympic trials qualifier in the 1500m and 5000m. Not to mention that he beat Henry Rono, a rare feat in the the year that Rono set 4 World Records. And yet, they were not the overachievers in the crowd. That honor went to one Mr. Danny Grimes, whom himself was a several time All American, a NCAA D2 multiple champ, 3 time Olympic trials qualifier, maybe 4, and a member of the 1987 US World Championships team in the marathon. To say the least, I kept fast company and my piece of parchment paper just didn't seem too impressive.

Although I only got to really run with Grimes for about a year, usually on Sunday mornings when he would meet us for long runs, he had a huge impact on my running life. For as fast of runner as he was, he was never in a hurry. My teammate Mike and I would sometimes feel the surge of testosterone that often flows in young bucks and would have to see who could be the first one up the hill on our weekly ritual 12 mile loop. (I was usually glad to accommodate Mike, mainly because he was a lousy hill runner and it was the only time I could put the hurt to him.) As we galloped off to play king of the mountain, Aldge and Grimes would just cruise behind, talking, laughing and who knows what. After this occurred several times I finally asked why they did not run any faster on their long runs, at which Grimes responded, "what's the point?" Three simple words that changed my approach to training, racing and now, coaching.

What's the point, indeed. Why was I hammering a 12 mile run the day after racing a grueling 8k over hill and dale and mud? And before I would be cranking out mile repeats the next day? Why was I running 70+ miles per week? Why did I keep having the same old feverish nightmare of running in my tighty-whities just to wake up in a pool of sweat and fear? Oh for the love of humanity, what was the point? My running life was spiraling out of control. I had no sense of direction. My internal running compass had been thrown off its axis and I was floundering like a fish out of water. I had no clue what the point was. And to make matters worst, I didn't even look good running around in my Fruit of the Looms in my nightmare! My poor, pale, runner-emaciated body freezing as onlookers gawked and snickered in amusement. (I think I might need therapy for this one.) I had to find the answer. What was the point of it all?

From that moment on, I became a student of the sport. I was pretty well versed in who was who and what they had accomplished as athletes. Shorter, Bachelor, Padilla, Ovett, Coe, Porter, Lindsey, Viren, Spivey, and the list goes on and on and on. I could tell you a hundred different names and their accomplishments, however, the one thing I lacked, and the one thing Grimes was getting at, could I tell how they got to their level of success? This was the point. Did I understand what was important in my day to day training? Did I understand the purpose of each and every run or work-out? Did I take into consideration yesterday, two days ago, or tomorrow? Did I understand the concepts of hard-easy, periodization, Daniels, Lydiard, or McMillan? I had to become a student of training concepts, physiology, and how these concepts are the groundwork for success in distance running.

Grimes simple question on a cold winter morning run changed my running life. I had been training with some very accomplished runners, just thinking I would reap a little success by osmosis, running with them. Little did I know that my success would have to come from my own understanding of training principles, learning to listen to my own body, and gleaning from their insights and knowledge acquired in their own pursuits of glory. My questions began to move away from what was it like to race in Europe or what is so and so like in person to how did you prepare to...? If my legs are feeling heavy from yesterday's race, how did you deal with...? If I am preparing to run a fast 10k, how does this work-out prepare...? I began to read Daniels, Pfitzinger, Brown, Lydiard, and Coe. By the time my senior year rolled around in track, my coach, Aldridge, began to ask me, what are we doing for a work-out today? Nine out of ten times I could answer correctly or just be an interval or two off of what the session would be. I could answer the question, what is the point?

When I finished my last collegiate race and was handed my parchment paper, I could tell you how I had arrived at that point in my running career. So as I set my sights upon another piece of parchment in July, I find myself asking myself each day, what is the point? How is this run, work-out, or activity going to help prepare or hurt my chances? Am I asking the right questions? Whether or not I earn a Masters All American is yet to be seen. My hope is that no matter what the outcome, I will be able to understand why I achieved what I accomplished and understand the point of every step by step of the journey to that moment. Now, if I could just figure out what that crazy tighty-whitey dream is all about?

As always, stay healthy, keep running, and don't worry, I am fully clothed when I am out on the trails and roads!

Daily Dose of Destiny

Like most mornings, I start the day with a cup of rich, steamy, dark roast coffee and the paper, but today I took a little peek at my horoscope and I was taken aback by my daily dose of destiny. Today's words from the stars for Aquarius were as follows: "Just because you are hopeful does not mean you are naive. When the odds are not in your favor, you may realize this fact and then go forward nonetheless, acting out of a combination of faith and loyalty."

Normally, I peruse the astrological print for a good chuckle before heading out the door for the morning trot. However, today those words resonated deep within my core as an aging athlete. Each step out the door in the morning and afternoons is a hopeful stride closer to meeting my goals and dreams as an athlete, but I am not naive. I am well aware of the fact that I am now in reverse and Father Time has turned the hourglass over on me. I have ran as fast as I am ever going to run. The only way to set any personal records is to take up ultra marathons. Which at times has been attractive, mainly because it is okay to stop and eat lunch in these races. But, I have not reached the best I can be at this given point in time. This I know as well. And, this gives me hope as I push myself on a frigid foggy morning like today.

I am also very aware that the odds are often stacked against me as I pursue my quest of being one of the best 40 something athletes in my sport. Heck, there are some days I just look the wrong direction and my back twinges, tugs, and pulls in thirty-three different directions, leaving me convulsing as I try to stand up straight. Or worst, I might actually be out running when all of a sudden my hamstring pulls a zinger and I am hopping around like a mad-man, cursing at the invisible forces while spinning in circles. Hopefully, I haven't swallowed a bug to boot, so I am not foaming at the mouth! But no Dr. Doom, bad back, bad luck or gray hair is going to deter my desire. I am always just one snap of connecting tissue away from being done, but nonetheless, faithfully and loyally I will again head out the door and rack up the miles.

Who knows what the stars have in store for me tomorrow morning when my groggy eyes will once again scan the local rag? But I do know this, my adidas will be at the door, calling me to once again lace up and dream big as I do what I always do... run.

A New Year

Sitting down and figuring out goals for this year is turning out to be a daunting experience. I have truly enjoyed my 2010 running year, as I reconnected with old friends, ran in a few races, watched my athletes transform into competitive runners, and rediscovered the simple joy of feeling the wind on your face on a chilly morning while your body is in motion. The two biggest highlights being; running with Phil during the Christmas break for two days through puddles and slick mud on single track trails and hanging out with Phil, Stu, and Chip at Masters Track Nationals in July sipping a couple of cold dark ones reminiscing and laughing so hard that I was sore for two days. Looking back, I met very few of my goals that I set out for the year, but what I did accomplish and experience was far better than what I thought would make a memorable return to the sport.

Throughout my competitive running career, goals were based on ascending the hierarchy of the list competitors that I would face and which races bore the best chance of projecting me higher up the scale. In other words, how do I get faster and where? The structure of my training and racing schedule was based on answering these two questions. However, at 43 and soon to be 44, I will never run as fast as I once did. Not that I was ever super fast, but I was decent and could hold my own, but that time has come and is now gone. With that said, I now find myself asking, "how do I set running goals for the new year?"

As I look back on 2010, it is the people that I ran with that made it such a great year. Giving my high school team mate Shannon a bad time for running with her iphone and joking around about it as she shoved it in her jog bra. Running with Lino, who is 20 years younger and pushing me to challenge myself out in a deluge of Biblical proportions, cursing Poseidon. Laughing so hard over dinner as my athletes are telling stories, using mock voices the night before Mt Sac and seeing the excitement in their faces as they line up to race the best in the state. Hearing my athletes imitate our coaching staff out on an easy run, saying over and over, "push, push, you've got to push." Splashing through puddles like you are 5 and who cares if your shoes and socks are soaked, you are getting wet anyways. Not once did I run a personal record or even a Masters personal best. But, I had fun.

I know this year I want to run more. I want to race more. I want to run in some races that I have never had a chance to run in the past, such as the Carlsbad 5000 and a trail race. I know I want to run in the World Masters Championship in July, just so I can wear the ol' US of A across my chest for once in my life. But most of all, I want to savor those mornings when I am out running at 5:00am and the only sound is my own feet hitting the frost laden leaves on the trail and my own breathing in rhythm with my stride, grateful that I can still put one foot in front of the other the way I love to do it. I want to sit and drink coffee with old and new friends after an hour of swapping tall tales of the ghosts of ourselves circling Rocky Hill or some tree-lined, winding deer trail covered in the glory of our own sweat. I want to be a runner.

As I head out the door, a new year and a new run awaits me and I know that if 2011 is anything like 2010, it is going to be a great year of running and I do not have to have a huge set of goals to motivate me. It is enough now, to know that I am a runner and I have some of the greatest friends in the world, who share this experience with me. As always, stay healthy, keep running and I will hopefully be sharing some kind of dark liquid with you after a race or run laughing our old gray tails off.