While running is very important to me, sometimes I struggle to get out the door.  No doubt there are others who have that same disorder, especially when the house is so comfortable.  Standing by a window, in your initialed robe/slipper combo sipping on coffee, you watch sleet fall out of a foggy sky while hell-wind blows against the house.  On top of that, it's inconsiderately, stupidly cold.  All of these realities make you uneasy, so you huddle back into your den to keep up with other…

Palmer Divide.  Wind blows stiff out of the north.  These speed trainers, the Brooks T5, serve me well.  I think about how long I've had them...nearly a year.  They'll probably do me well 'til Spring.  A few more seconds to tighten the laces, and then I go. 

First lap is aggressive.  It's a method that works well for me...start hard and settle into pace.  The mile will average between 6:00-6:55 if cards are played right.  Something about knowing when to hold and fold.

Second…

The following is my account of the events that transpired during my running of the Leadville 100 on August 16 and 17, 2014.

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4am, Saturday morning, August 16th.  Hands clasped together and eyes tightly shut, I think to myself- I’m going to do this.  This is IT.  I got this.  Can’t quit…won’t quit…no DNF’s…  NO…

Woodmen Hill west of I-25. Last July, my attempt to run up the SOB depleted every energy in my body, thus leaving me in submission under a pine tree in a person's yard. I couldn't continue. Luckily I had a phone with me to call a ride. Today was my day to settle the score with the old nemesis, and that I did. My method of attack was to shoot for various targets along the stretch (streetlights, trees, mailboxes, etc.) a few hundred yards away. I used that target shooting strategy until I made…

I:  Fat Black Cat

     4:45 am.  Street lamps and daybreak's dim colorless glow were my only sources of light for the first three miles.  Jogging through the neighborhood, my limited vision then revealed a fat black cat crossing my path, but barely a second after I spat he went and crossed again.  I spat again.  Superstition never played a big part in my daily runs, but that morning I felt a certain duty to spit.  I then drank some water out of my camelback.  Who would have thought…

     Pops, when he was wrapping up a story, would cap it with a famous saying used in a western movie.  I don't quite remember what movie or who coined the phrase, but he would love to say "That's the way it was, going west..." in his hills of northern Connecticut-rumbling voice.  Now, after time has gone and done what's inevitable, I am proud to keep Pop's great sayings going strong by recalling "the way it was" with the Las Vegas Marathon.  

     It was cold that morning.  The sun…