Are you living an expansive life?

I'm reading a book, Fiction Attack, by James Scott Bell, author and writing coach extraordinaire, and he asks that very question: Are you living an expansive life? Are you taking risks and learning or playing it safe? For most people, the answer is to play it safe. And there are good evolutionary reasons to do exactly that. After all, early adopters in the paleolithic era tended to get eaten by saber-toothed tigers if the newest idea didn't work out as planned. All species are driven by a strong survival instinct (with the possible exception of the panda) and taking chances was, well, chancy.

But advancement can't be accomplished by sitting in the crook of the tree, watching the world go by. Or in front of the TV. To learn new things, to grow, a person needs to leave the comfort zone and explore. Explorations don't need to be on foot or to some strange land. The most arduous journeys start inside you, asking a simple question: "What if. . . ?"

What if I asked that girl out?

What if I learned Italian?

What if I climbed that mountain?

Not everybody wants to, or even needs to, live an expansive life but if you want to reach your maximum potential as a contributing human being, playing it safe isn't an option. All history is built by people pushing boundaries. Those who dared to try something new, like powered flight, are revered as 'unique' and 'special'. They are neither - they are simply people who were willing to climb out of the tree.

Do many of these folks perish? Absolutely, sometimes in spectacular fashion.  Watch Birdmen: The Original Dream of Flight if you want an appreciation of how intensely limits can be pushed.

Not every act needs to be death-defying, of course. Some of those 'what if's' exist purely in the realm of the mind, creating new ways to look at things. The American Revolution was a new way to organize a country. Relativity by Einstein was a new way to view the universe. Ideas are perhaps the most profound life-changers.

History is also strewn with those who played it safe but backed the wrong leader, the wrong idea. In the end, there's no such thing as playing it safe. Hoping that the group simply spreads your risk - and your exposure to risk - over a larger entity.

So, back to the question: are you living an expansive life? Do you ever think. . . what if. . . .?

Holiday Fun Runs

Yep, Christmas is coming, so it's that time of year: the holiday fun run in frigid temperatures and, for the more adventurous, costumes. The Asotin Cross Country team is sponsoring the Joy to the World Run on December 21st. Last year, it was the End of the World run but apparently the Mayans were wrong. It's a 2- and 5-mile fun run that starts and finishes at the Asotin track. You can download an entry form here --> JTTWFunRun13 As an added bonus - and a surprise to the Race Director, Tim Gundy, since I didn't bring this up to him yet - I will be sponsoring a "Best Costume Award" which is probably a $15 gift certificate to Tri-State Sports.

There are other relatively local holiday fun runs as well:

The Seaport Striders have their Santa Run this Saturday, December 7th, at Swallows Nest Park in Clarkston. Entry form --> 2013santarun. They also have their annual New Year's Day Hangover Run - which I have never run but not due to hangovers. Entry form

Want something more challenging? How about a winter 50K. Pullman is holding one on the 14th (though you don't have to do the whole thing). Pullman Winter Ultras. Kindly, they include this informational notice. IMPORTANT: The Pullman Winter Ultra Series is a no-fee, low-key, no-support, slip-on-ice, freeze-your-toes-off, drink-a-beer-afterward-or-during, fun-run-style event.

If anybody knows of other fun runs at the holidays around here, let me know. Colfax used to have one (the Santa Run, where I dressed up like a reindeer with a couple of friends and pulled Sara around on a sleigh. Lance had to wear the red nose.)

Up on the Palouse Divider, they used to run the Mangy Moose 5K and 10K but that disappeared a couple of years ago, unfortunately.

Run gently, folks, and bundle up. It's a mite nippy out there (single digits this morning) and a white Christmas looking more likely by the day. Perfect for trying out new running gear that Santa brings.

Yesterday I watched a girl run the best race of her life - and cry.

Both the girls and boys teams qualified at the District meet last week and lined up yesterday to compete against the best runners in the State of Washington at the State Cross Country Championship in Pasco, Washington. For me, it marked the end of an era. I had no children of my own racing for the first time in nearly a decade but, for a decade, we've made the trek west. We did it again yesterday.

The girls ran first, at 10:00 under a single patch of clear sky, the only one of the day. At the previous editions of the Championship, I sped from point to point to cheer on the team and, specifically, daughters. This year, I camped at the two mile mark, out past no-mans-land and cheered.

One girl suffered from a lingering cold but the team ran well, competed hard and took fourth place in the State. The race for placement was almost impossibly tight. A single point separated the second through fourth place finishes.

The boys team faired better, placing second overall with Chandler Teigen just missing the course 2B record. Given some serious competition, the record probably would have fallen. It will next year. All boys ran well, confident and aggressive and proud. And they deserved their place on the podium.

But the lasting memory that I carry away isn't the girls or boys on the podium, the freshmen running so well, or Chandler running away from the field.

It was of a single girl, a team captain, a senior, holding onto her dad and in tears, not from disappointment - at that point they didn't know the scores - but because it was over. A team that she has been a part of for four years, the relationship with a coach that she admires, the memories of the girls she competed against resolved into a single moment - and was over.

Sometimes the kids don't realize how special their teammates and their competition is. But some, a few, they indeed realize that an important marker just passed, one that can never be recalled except in memories.

I coached this young lady five years ago and the images from that time still make me smile. At least one element of her will eventually make it into a book of mine - one of my favorite memories of coaching, a little waif of a girl with steady, wise eyes and a question.

Last year, I held my daughter while she cried, and I had no words other than 'I love you' and 'I am so proud of you.' I said the same things to another daughter on her final high school race, though it took her two years to understand fully.

So yesterday, I watched athletes run with beauty and grace, with strength and heart, flying towards that finish line. For one moment, I saw a scene of beauty, family, friends, teammates, bound up in one hug and some tears.

"Ditch the music" - Advice from Deena Kastor

I was meandering my way through Runners World this morning and found this quote from Deena Kastor, the American Record holder and Bronze medalist at the 2004 Olympics:

"Ditch the music, especially on trail runs, and listen to your surroundings. It's amazing how connected you'll feel to your environment when you take in what's happening around you."

Years and years ago, when Nike was young and Etonic still made running shoes, I ran because I had to - my track coach thought even discus throwers needed five good miles a day. Though I must admit I never felt fatigued crossing the eight feet of the circle, I did it both because he insisted and, once I got fast enough, I could hang with the cute girls.

This was a time before iPods, before the Sony Walkman. We didn't listen to music as we ran. We talked. Some of us would sing, proving that we were better athletes than vocalists. If you saw another runner, you gave him or her a thumbs up or a little wave. And, shockingly, they would return the wave and with a smile - most of the time.

The boys dodged traffic - I first ran in Seoul, South Korea - seeing how close we could get to rear bumpers as we sprinted across the roads off post. A fun game, at the time at least, and none of us ever got hit by a car, proving we were lucky as well as quick.

(Quick aside on the invulnerability of the teenage American male - I had the misfortune to be cut off by a kimchi cab while doing 20 mph on my bike. The cab hit his brakes, and I crashed into his bumper. As I hurtled over the handlebars, I remember thinking 'Oh wow..." as I looked at the cab upside down. Hit, roll, back up to feet - being 17 is wonderful at the physical level - and ran to the cab - to make sure I hadn't damaged the man's car.)

The Sony Walkman changed everything. By today's standard, it's big and clunky and decidedly uncool looking but in the day. . . it was the hottest thing out there for walkers and runners. You could actually take your own tunes with you. No one ran with a radio - who wants to listen to commercials? - but the Walkman let you take your cassettes with you. If you have a long-playing cassette, you could get an hour of music, though you had to stop and flip the cassette to listen to the second half.

Runners - especially women - took to the Walkman in droves, and you could see them nearly everywhere, running in spandex at low speed, earphones mounted on their ears, rocking in a little musical world of their own.

Most runners still didn't use the Walkman. It was a pain to carry and would pull down your shorts if you clipped it to your waistband.

Enter Steve Jobs and the first iPod. Small, smaller than anyone had previously envisioned for a playback device. Light-weight. And, instead of an hour of music, days of music. And, did I mention small, small enough to wear on a sleeve? Small enough that you don't even notice it's there as you cover ground and lose yourself in the music.

The iPod took music mainstream for the average runner. If my local community is any indication, more than half of the runners today use some version of iPod (though some use their phones - mine would end up in the river. Just saying....) They - and it's both men and women - tune in and zone out on the local bike paths. I've seen the distinctive white wires on runners as they shuffle across dirt trails and forested paths.

I could rant on the dangers of listening to music while running- I banned my daughters from using an iPod. We live in a small community, relatively safe, where we have neighbors instead of people occupying houses next door. I still worry about my girls running, zoned out and unaware of the environment around them. Zoned out females are a favorite for many predators. . . .

The loss of connection is a bigger issue for me. Running, especially on trails as Deena noted, can ground you and carry you, with each step, to a place that you share with the world, a part of it, not separate. Magic happens in those moments when the tumult inside quiets, and there is just breathing and striding out, angling into and out of turns, all happening on a deep instinctive level that we all have.

Those moments, fluid and fully aware, connect us to the world around us as we move as unconsciously as an animal, whether it's solo or part of a pack. Instead of tuning in, it's flowing out, joining instead of isolating. The music stops that, turns us inside the song. disconnected from ourselves and other runners and the wider world where every sense tingles.

So give Deena's advice a try - ditch the music for a while.

And when you see another runner, give them a thumb's up - we're all connected to the same big pack.

George Creek in Asotin

Saturday was a fun run where I took a chance by leaping off onto the George Creek Trail in Asotin County without a real clear idea of where I would end up - or how long it would take to cover the ground back to the house.

There are two trail heads on the WDFW Land website. I used the second one, the Rockpile Parking Area. Directions are easy enough  to follow:

Rockpile Parking Area:  From Asotin, drive west up Asotin Creek Road and take a left on Cloverland Grade Road.  Follow Cloverland Grade road up to the ridge top where the agricultural fields begin.  Go approximately 5 miles to WDFW parking area on left side of road.

Once there, it was a matter of sliding through the gate to the abandoned jeep trail (this was very steep with a lot of loose rubble and overgrown) to the canyon floor. On the way down, you're guaranteed to get soggy shoes from a natural spring set to flow into watering tanks for horses. The overflow runs right across the trail.

Once I hit the canyon floor, there are multiple trails, some headed further up the canyon and the one I wanted, headed back down.  The trail at this end is single track - it doesn't really widen for about 4 miles.

The trail follows Rockpile creek until it reaches George Creek. Rockpile was pretty much dry with a couple of soggy spots - I hope I can get out here in the spring when the creeks should all be full and the wildflowers in full bloom. As it was, there was typical desert sage and scrub grasses.

The first canyon intersection branched left toward home and right towards....I dunno. That will be an exploration when I have a little more base endurance. Saturday, I rolled left, scattering a herd of deer that were grazing on the lower meadows. Last I saw of them, they were cresting the steppe on the far side of the canyon.

The trail widens into a jeep track and then a dirt road as you get closer to the lower farms closer to town. It looks like there is a major effort by the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife to create a sustainable watershed. From the tracks, it appears that they brought in heavy equipment to clear some brush and set logs to restrain debris flowing downstream under flood conditions. A bit further down, I found the backhoe clearing the creek bed to prepare a new bridge system.

The operator looked a little shocked to see me jogging down the trail - I get the impression that few people ever head out to George Creek despite its proximity to Asotin - but shut down the rig long enough for me to ford the creek- the third time I soaked my feet.

From there, it was an easy run to George Creek road, mostly gravel and a right turn onto Asotin Creek Road as I wound my way back to the house.

All in all, a nice intermediate run, maybe 12-13 miles long, and mostly in the solitude of the canyon.

Keeping Promises

Keeping promises - especially to your kids - is a crucial part of life. So when my daughter asked me to join her in a half-marathon next summer (2014), I was leery of saying yes. This broken down body of mine limped through most days when I walked, much less when I tried running. I said yes anyway.

Rational? No, not really but, at a fundamental level, I needed an anchor. I've always succeeded when I was willing to accept the price of the dream, whether chasing after an ultra or starting a business. I've also had my moments of deciding that, nope, I wasn't willing to pay that price. Early in my working career, problems abounded because I act on my beliefs. That usually acts as an impediment in corporate America.

So, I said "F. it" and found employment where I worked as my own boss. When I got tired of even that little bit of control, I started a business. About the same time, my gout exploded from an occasional annual bout to monthly attacks and my running went from 70 miles a week to be glad that walking didn't hurt too much and squeezing what miles I could when I didn't hurt too bad.

My doctor through the last five years of this has been the essence of patience. She never let me off the hook for how hard I pushed but, together, we worked on it. Along the way, we discovered that I react to most NSAIDs which makes controlling the outbreaks a pain.

I'm also reactive - I don't want to say allergic because it's not a 'take a dose, have an anaphylactic fit' - to the gout medications and diet was getting me only so far. Prednisone would knock down the swelling but wipe me out from running for three weeks or more.

Then came last year's Spokane to Sandpoint relay and, the night before, a mild gout attack. The team used up their its pool of replacements covering for a young lady with the flu. I ran the relay with the bum foot and along the way, set a new performance standard when on of my teammates cheered me on with a shout of "You're not limping!" Good enough and it got me through the weekend.

I went to see her - again - after that. Diet wasn't working and the attacks were getting more frequent. In December, she offered to try me out with a new medication.

No problem.

I read the literature. It would trigger attacks for two months to two years while it cleaned out my system - if I didn't react to it first.

It was in January that my daughter asked me to run with her, in the midst of what would turn into a six month long attach of gout that moved from joint to joint and often occupied two or three joints at once.  I hadn't run since early December when I visited a friend in Eugene.

I said yes, anyway.

And then began worrying about keeping promises. I ran when I could - twice in a week sometimes, separated by two or three weeks by another attack. Running too much actually triggers more attacks.

And I had to suck up what pride I had left. Once I could run 100 miles. This summer, it was down to two miles and I had to stop. So, two miles at a time I ran and one day it was two and a half.

Today, it was about six. And for a short stretch of trail, the stride was strong, the ground flew by, and I chased a mule deer through the wood.  The deer won and it wasn't close but for that moment, a little sliver of hope that I kept banked and carefully tended, burst into flame.

Because I think that I'm going to be able to keep my promise to my daughter. And while keeping promises is important, rekindling hope can life-changing. For me, a small change, a return to what was.

But if you can kindle hope in someone who has no belief in the future, you've done them a great service. I look at all the children who have already given up whether it's due to family circumstances or crappy schools or the gangbangers on the corner and I want to find a way to inspire them.

And I don't know how. Not yet. But I will.

I promise. Somewhere, sometime, I'm going to make that connection.

Long runs for Junior High School

Defining long runs for junior high school athletes can drive a coach slightly batty. At one end of the spectrum, you have the kids that are natural runners and, in some cases, already ran on a regular basis before the cross country season started. The other end of that spectrum is occupied by the kids that are doing this for the first time and for whom a jog around the block may be the furthest they've ever run.

In Asotin, even with a very young team - we have no eighth grade girls and the boys team has only two- we have both, just as every school does. A difference for us is that some of our seventh graders were with us last year and bought into running - and baseball for the boys.

So we've adopted two strategies. The first was to take the strongest of the experienced runners and let them run with the high school team on the easy days for the high school. Even that is a bit much for them but an occasional dose - and exposure to the work ethic that our high school athletes have - is meaningful for them.

The other strategy we used yesterday is to let the kids segregate into groups - for the most part, we let them self-select - and each coach plus a volunteer, my daughter Sara, took a group out. Different paces, different distances, different goals.

For the speedy Gonzalez's, it was about 4.5 miles at 9 minute pace. Some of the kids bit off a touch more than they could chew and eased into the park at the end at a walk. One kid, feeling a twinge, wisely did the same after 3.5 miles.

I ran with the middle group. These were mostly kids that are new to running (one was an eighth grade boy that I wanted in the group for some leadership) and we discovered all sorts of things on a 3.25 mile jaunt at 'Coach Paul' pace. One girl noticed another constantly speeding up and then stopping to walk - understandable as she is a sprinter on the track team. Pacing is new to her but I was tickled that I wasn't the one that pointed it out to her but a teammate did. One of the sixth grade boys had never run this far so he got a PR on distance - it certainly won't be his last.

The final group, led by Sara, was on a mission: Run without walking. It doesn't seem like an ambitious goal for athletes but for kids that have no base of running, learning that they can do this is huge. The emphasis is not speed but perseverance. For most, it was a success.

Since we're dealing with young athletes, we don't do many long runs and, obviously, what is a long run to the kids now will someday be a short easy day. When we plan long runs for junior high athletes we take the long view and make sure that we give them just enough of a challenge to help them develop and not so much that we kill the run or injury the runner.

Because, in the long run, we want them to be runners for life.

The Starter - A Guy with a (Fake) Gun

Cross country season is off to a great start - not in small part due to the volunteers that help staff the meets here such as Les - today's starter at the Seaport Invite in Clarkston, Washington. I've watched Les start races in the Inland Northwest for about a decade and always wondered at his easy disposition and calming effect on a mob of athletes itching to sprint away. Today was nice because I had a chance to chat with him briefly after the junior varsity race got under way since I was the backup timer today and didn't have to call splits at the mile mark.

This marks the 28th year that Les has acted as a race official, working both cross country and track. Before that, he coached for a couple of decades - between the two, he has five decades of experience which is a stunning concept, at least for me (having just reached my fiftieth year - it means he started coaching the year I was born.) He plans on sticking around for at least a few more years so that number will only grow. Like Ripken's consecutive game streak in baseball or Coach K's wins in college basketball, it's a record that's going to be awfully hard to beat.

Interestingly enough, he grew up in Maryland, not far from where I grew up. Both of us were children of people in government service - his father was military, mine Department of Defense and we've both been to Okinawa. It's an odd feeling - a touch of nostalgia - to meet someone from that neck of the woods when I've left it far behind, both in distance and in time.

Les projects an old-fashioned graciousness and warmth and I suspect that aspect of his personality is what gets the races off to such smooth starts. Listening to parents compare him to other starters just reinforces the importance of the role that he plays - whether he knows it or not - to the community and to the athletes.

I also suspect that if you brought you his role, he'd tell you that it's all about the kids and the joy that they bring as they compete against each other and themselves. It certainly wouldn't be about Les and five decades of service to these youngsters. The Starter is that kind of man.

Xero Huaraches

Well, I've done my first couple of runs in my new Xero shoes - one on grass and two on the treadmill (ughh, I know, but it was 100 degrees outside and a skinny time window for getting a run in.) Advertised as "The closest thing to barefoot", they give you an incredible feel for whatever is under foot. I choose the 6mm Xero shoes (they have a thinner 4mm, too) and didn't notice much lose of sensation from FeelMax shoes.

The shoes are essentially the equivalent of huaraches and the videos for the manufacturing of the shoes (you can have them pre-made or make them yourself) shows the traditional lacing system. Surprisingly, the strap between the toes is absolutely unnoticeable when you walk or run.

The treadmill is was pretty boring so we'll move on to the grass. I wore them cross country practice -mainly to weird out the junior high runners I help coach - they really didn't believe I could run in them for any distance at all. On a 100 degree day they were much cooler on the toes and so light that I barely could feel them.

I did notice that I was much more mindful of obstacles such as an old stump in the middle of Chief Joseph Park. I also discovered I drag my toes as I folded the front end twice. No damage to toes on either occasion but interesting. I always like having something to improve on.

On the pavement to and from the park, I was nearly soundless which was encouraging. I keep teaching the kids that if they're making a lot of noise, they're wasting a lot of energy. Still, they are middle schoolers and growing so fast sometimes they aren't quite sure where their various limbs actually end.

All in all, very pleased with the early runs with the Xero shoes. I'll have to try some longer runs as I build up and see how they do with that. And, of course, winter is coming. That will be interesting, too.

Volunteering

2002 was a good year for the Duffau family volunteering at local races - though, admittedly, it was only at Ultras. That year is one of my favorites in running - though I only did a little bit of racing myself. San Diego has an active ultrarunning group and. in 2002, they put on five events ranging from a 50K to a 24 hour track run. I didn't run a single one though I did run a 12 hour race (more like 9 due to a stress fracture in my right foot) in San Mateo at the Jim Skophammer race that the Bay Area Ultrarunners used to put on. I did volunteer at every event.

The first of the year, the Cuyamaca 50K, all I did was help out at the finish. I wasn't instrumental to any particular degree but I was there handing out water and food as the runners finished.

The next race was the Smuggler 50 Miler (I think it's extinct now) and my first time sweeping a trail. For those that haven't been to a trail ultra, we always mark the course as well as possible. We also clean up behind ourselves. It is a point of pride in the ultra community that we don't leave trash on the ground like you will see at a typical marathon.

My job as sweep was to make sure that the last runner made it in successfully and, as I followed behind him, pick up all the course markers and any trash we left behind. So, for my first night-time trail run, I was carrying a cardboard box for twelve miles, adding stuff as I went.

It was also the first time that I had talked to a Badwater finisher, one who ran it before it went corporate and 'organized'. I caught Dale about four miles from the finisher and we chatted into the finish until he kicked away at the end. I think there were fifty people still there cheering him in to the line.

The next one was run by a friend, Maureen Moran, who we met after I started running ultras even though she literally lived around the corner. The race was the PCT50 and was run in July. In southern California. In the desert.

It was a mite hot. As in 105 degrees in the shade. The runners didn't get much shade.

The Duffau Family, all five of us, showed up at the first aid station at 5AM and got everything set up. We would see the runners twice, first at the 5 mile mark and again at 45 miles. The PCT50 is an out-and-back course, 25 miles uphill into the Cuyamaca Mountains before turning around. Except that year, some joker moved the turnaround sign. Bonus miles for the runners but it was dangerous since it took them miles out from the aid stations in brutal heat.

The girls left at noon with grandma and Donna and I and the volunteer radio operator (ALWAYS thank the ham radio operators - cellphones don't work out there and they worked long days) spent the afternoon sweating and trying to get runners rehydrated. The aid station at the ten mile mark was doing the same. A couple of them were in bad shape but I don't think we had to pull a single runner.

The extra miles also meant that the slower runners, instead of finishing at dusk, were finishing in the dark. Maureen sprinted up from the finish to bring us a load of flashlights for them. We packed up after the last runner, getting back to the finish in time to watch the bobbing lights descending to the finish.

Want to be a hero? Show up at 2AM at the San Diego 1 Day track run and cook grilled cheese sandwiches and warm soup for the athletes. They will be unbelievably thankful that you're there. I was gimpy from setting a new PR in the 25K earlier in the day but I didn't have to move much. My daughter Katie helped too, keeping the food flowing as she cheered the runners circling the track.

We've moved from SoCal and don't help with ultras any more, obviously, but I love the fact that the local cross country coaches ask their teams to volunteer at the local races. Tim Gundy, coach at Asotin High School and all-round neat guy, has encouraged volunteering in his kids. The kids have responded by showing up with great attitudes and

Mike Collins, coach at Lewis Clark State College, does the same with his runners.

Brian Denton at Clarkston does too.

They don't just encourage it in the kids - they all walk the walk - you'll catch them at races helping, organizing, doing the little things that need to be done.

I watch races begging for volunteers and some, like the Spokane to Sandpoint relay, charge a few to hire 'volunteers'. I don't have a problem with the fee - I appreciate the help when I run.

But we could use more people volunteering. Just one race a year would be a huge help and it's a nice way to give back to your sport.

Copyright © 2013 Paul Duffau

Tribes

The tribes are on the move and you can hear their rumble. The tall lanky guy, blue jeans and a tee shirt said, "I'm DJ. This here is Randy."

"I'm Randy," the other guy repeated. If bikers were superheroes, Randy would always be the sidekick.

They were talking to Dan and Clarissa - I'd spot her on the way in. Easy enough to do since she was wearing a skin tight hot pink top with a deep scoop and red hair from Clairol.  It took three sentences of conversation for her to inform the rest of the tribe she was a full member and rode her own Harley.

DJ and Randy were from Seattle. Clarissa and Dan were from New Mexico. A guy in the neighboring booth at the Pizza Hut in Hardin, MT, Roy was from Wisconsin. I think he was taking the scenic ride to Sturgis.

The town was filled with bikers and they were everywhere on the road, all headed for their annual pilgrimage in Sturgis, South Dakota.

We saw more of them at breakfast, all of us up early to get the miles in. The bikers all walk with their toes pointed out, a bit duck footed except for DJ. I think he has a bad hip. I don't know if Sturgis has any holy water or magical potions that will help him.

There were also members of my tribe there. We're not as chatty as the bikers. One guy nodded while we checked out each other's shoes. The other guy was trying to get logged on the computer to answer some emails. But they both had that tanned, lean build and the shoes. Mostly, they had that look - the one that you get when you've covered enough miles and you're still hunting the horizon. I know that look.

Just a nod. A far branch - all the tribes have them just as families do. And while you have your tribes - you probably have at least a couple you're passionate about - you're never alone.

Talking to the Running Gods

Running Gods are supposed to be admired from afar as they race toward the finish line. On presumptuous days, you analyze their training logs and think 'hmm, if I just added that workout or those miles...' But you don't dare talk to them. Even if you wanted to try, they're so very far up on that pedestal, they'll never hear you. They talk with other running gods and with reporters, of course. One assumes that they have friends and family but that side gets lost in the glow of their performance on the track or in the marathon or the dust of the trail.

I'm reminded of a daughter who went to school with Reggie Bush at Helix High School in California. We moved up to the Pacific Northwest about the time that Reggie went to USC. When they came to play WSU in Pullman, we went to the game.

She made a sign and, after the game, went down to say...

"Uh, hi....." (small wave, slightly embarrassed and a fast retreat)

Not "Hey, long way from Helix" or "Dude, remember me? Spanish Class?" That would have been much too presumptuous and, by then, Reggie Bush was a Running Back God.

I've given her a boatload of grief over the years because of that "uh, Hi..." but now the shoe is on the other foot. Having written a book about runners, I'm now looking for people to review the book.

Now it's my turn to talk to Running Gods, asking a favor.

How do you address a running god? By starting with an idea that they're just people - really, really fast people. Lauren Fleshman is incredibly funny on Twitter. Bernard Lagat tweets that he's sorry to disappoint his fans at his last race. Joan Benoit Samuelson blogs about Fourth of July and her garden. Each is a little glimpse into the basic humanity of these runners.

The really top-notch runners that I have met are among the nicest people I know. The only reason not to talk to a Running God is your own fear.

They're on that pedestal because we put them there. I'm not so sure it is a comfortable perch.

Rainier to Pacific

Running the Rainier to Pacific Relay in 2008 was a bit of good fortune. It started with a phone call from my daughter asking if it was okay that she run the relay. Since she was 17, she needed permission and my reputation around the house is Mr. Softee - the kids know it as does the dog.

"Sure," I said, "but if you don't really want to, tell them I'll run."

"I told them you would," she said. "They need two runners."

So we ran the Rainier to Pacific relay together. It was the first of four relays that I ran with my daughters - the youngest daughter ran Spokane to Sandpoint with me last year. The first couple of years my middle daughter was in the same van as me. The last year we ran together, she needed space and ran in the other van, hanging with folks closer to her age.

No worries, thinks the dad. I was tickled that we got to share these relays. I ran with them when they were little waifs and cheered at their cross country meets. I was always their biggest fan...

Funny thing - when you run with your babies, they keep growing. You run with them as young kids, then as young adults and the next thing you know, you're cheering for them from a distance. Now, I'm looking at joining Lyn in the stroller division...and it's just...wow...

Take What the Trail Will Give You

When I first started teaching my girls to run on trails, I taught them to take what the trail will give. I've watched so many runners, facing a rocky, technical hill, decide that they will impose their will on the hill. Good luck with that. The hill doesn't care. Nary a bit.

Which brings me to my run yesterday. The hill - in this case, the climb on the Headwaters Trail on Moscow Mountain - was kicking my butt. Yes, I'm out of shape. Yes, it was hot and it was humid. Those were the least of my issues.

I stood at a trail crossing a couple of miles up the hill and contemplated turning around, not finishing the loop. It wasn't a physical issue - I wasn't far from the top as it was. It was mental - I was overloaded, overheated and under-motivated. I was feeling a bit whiny if you really wanted to know.

So I did what I often do. I had an honest discussion with myself...

You can turn back now, Paul. It's all downhill. Feel fast as you cover ground back to the car and it's still a great addition to the week's running. It's just not what you said you were going to do.

And all you have to do is explain to the family how the hill was kicking your butt and you chickened out from the rest of the trail and ran for home.

Or you can keep going, finish the loop. Take what the trail will give, give what you've got ... and be happy with what is.

Your choice. What are you going to do?

So I kept going. For those that don't know me, I have a habit of talking to myself so the above conversation isn't either new or unusual. More importantly, I listen to myself and what I heard was disappointment. Not that the hill was clobbering me - but that I was giving up on me. I still had enough juice to get over the ridge.

About ten minutes later, the trail rewarded me. I know, I said the trail doesn't care but sometimes I just feel like things happen for a reason even if they obviously don't. But I got to see that big bull moose with the massive rack because I hung in to the end.

If I had quit, I would have missed him and the loss would be entirely mine. For those keeping track at home by the way, that's moose, elk, two types of deer, bear, bear cub and a fox seen this summer. Not bad and no cougar sighting except on the WSU campus.

Once I crested the ridge and started down, I was right - I would feel fast. I was whipping through the woods and the foot work started to come back. Little hesitation steps to rebalance past a tree root, quick stepping a downhill. The signs that I'm gradually relearning how to run, aware of the roots and rocks and ruts, the whole body making the adjustments to handle each little change, moving on a more instinctive level again.

The trail may not care but I do so I will take what the trail will give - and I'll honor it by giving what I have.

It's a fair enough trade and I got to see a moose. That's a pretty good run.