On Saturday I found myself at the official start of my fall life…my youngest daughter’s cheerleading practice. The exception to this fall sport is that it was August 2nd and no where near those lovely cooler fall temperatures.

Now some time last February when midway through a five miler at zero Fahrenheit the lure of spring and the ability to go out without dressing like the Great Nanook of the North seemed so appealing. Further in the distance as I watched for ice patches was the delusion of the wonderfully steamy intense soaking wet summer runs that laid ahead and beckoned me to build up my mileage with the fantasy that I’d also get faster. Getting faster is something I like to lie to myself about fairly often, some day the reality that I’m near 40 and will start slowing down should soon set in.

On this day cheer practice was in a different park than usual and as fate would have it I planed my run around her schedule. So as she bounced out of the car, flitted over to the squad and began practice my 14 year old followed suit to help coach, blowing off the very run she committed to multiple times the day before. So now three hours after waking up its 20 degrees warmer and my running partner of the day ditched me. Cheerleaders blowing me off, guess really not that much has changed since High School.

It was a lovely park with some shade that dotted the route as undulating paved trail wound through the tree lines, past the fields, through the picnic areas and playgrounds. My lumbering, plodding strides went on like always, short shuffling and slowly. My old and aching knees longed to find some packed trail rather than pavement and the fear of turning an ankle kept me off the grass.

By now the temperature was in the mid 80’s and the hills I claimed to miss from back in my native Pittsburgh were attacking me in their Missouri form with a vengeance in this heat. Finally breaking stride from the usual shuffling run to a near walk on a few of them.

Somewhere on one of those sun baked bright hillsides my shirt, shorts, and god knows what else was soaked to the core I began to wonder where my running hat and gloves from winter had found their way to.

Veering out of the park into a subdivision the unique experience of having a local police office drive next to me and staring at me for three seemingly endless blocks was a distraction from the heat and a bit unnerving. Seriously dude go fight crime, get a coffee or what ever and quit staring at me. On second thought maybe I looked like and escaped convict in my orange technical shirt, or perhaps I was so red and sweaty he thought it better to stay close to call for medical help if my fat ass gave out and hit the deck. In that case stay right were you are sir. As I went back toward the park he left me alone.

On the second lap through I began to wonder what the snowball series would be like this year. Did I need new tights? Since I forgot my watch in a pathetic attempt to run in a calm non time obsessed Zen like state I wondered if I’d been running for 20 minutes or and an hour and twenty minutes? How far had I gone it felt like 10 miles maybe 12 but odds were it was more like six.

Back into the backing sun and serpentine stretch of trail putting on a good show as I headed to where my girls were trying not to drip sweat on my wife as she sat in the shade watching the kids and I gulped water desperately.

“What time is it?” I asked with hopeful optimism still panting from the exertion of my run. Her voice replied. “You ran for about 50 minutes.” My dreams were dashed.

Six miles was not far from the truth…5.5 miles was probably the reality. Later that day while eyeing the fall 5K schedule with the youngest daughter and picking our races I saw it…the first date in one of the winter racing series.

Salvation at last the frostbite series kicks off December 13 and this year I intend to run in both local winter race series this time around. Just do me a favor when it’s 20 out with fresh snow on the ground, single digit wind chill and I want to stay in my nice warm bed rather than venture out into it remind me I missed running in the winter.

Ok we all know this but for those of us that run even if like me you tend to be a bit on the slow side of things especially on race day the clock at the end matters. Even if all you really want to do is race against your own times. Sure we and I in particular have those days when finishing is all that one really cares about but often take for granted what running has done for me.

So being a recent born again runner there’s so much that comes to mind but then to put things all in perspective it takes the simplicity of a child. Often what really matters revolves around family and friends so on a very warm and sunny January day where instead of 25 degrees out it was 60 my family less our fat lazy dog head out for the third race in a no frills winter snowball series. I love the simplicity of it show up put on your number and run. As they told me when we signed up “if you’re expecting a marching band you’ll be sadly disappointed, they’ll be cookies hot chocolate and coffee at the end of each run and a sale in the store.”

Running is a new family activity for us in recent months, a desperate attempt on my part to share an activity with both my kids and wife that I also enjoy and selfishly try to fend off father time for a few more seconds while lying to myself that someday I’ll have a flat belly again. Not likely but it keeps my feet shuffling along. As fate would have it my 13 year old daughter’s best friend also signed up. The friend comes from a family where her brother runs competitively and her month runs religiously. Mine signed up because we promised to buy her breakfast out after the runs and the lure of new clothes even if it was winter running gear was strong. Who cares, she signed up its family time and soon enough she’ll have even less time for us than she does now.

A God send really, nothing like a friend for motivation. From time to time we all benefit from training partners, a pace group, etc but here we are lined up to run and less than a ¼ mile in they declare they’re walking so we trudge on ahead and see them passing the two mile mark as we loop back heading for four. We’re almost done, loving the warm sun shine, running through the river valley in the flats and along the fields knowing that a wicked hill is just up ahead. Around 49 minutes I cross the finish line with my 9 year old who out sprinted me yet again.

In what is probably a show of poor race etiquette she decided to pass everyone she could in the last ¾ of a mile, none of which were in her age bracket, all of who were recreational runners at least 25 years her senior. As each victim fell to her quest to finish in front of as many people as she could she’d call out to me the next one. “Pink hat 4 up” and off she went with me trailing her to keep an eye on things. I’m a proud dad I taught her that in her 1^st 5k just a few months back to keep her moving toward the end of the race. Now it is our ritual, keep to our set pace for 60% of the run and then pick it up and finish like mad. She inherited her competitive streak from both of her competitive parents, so I personally blame it on her genetics of which I’m only responsible for 50%

She opened it up completely once back in the safety of a closed street and parking lot. sprinting the last 200 meters like she hadn’t just run 5 miles. Despite pacing her the entire race so she didn’t go too quick too soon she showed her father no mercy as those little feet pumped away. She blew past a 40 something 20 meters from the finish line. An effort that put her in a good 15 meters ahead of her most recent victim and caused an audible, loud, and disgusted “WHAT THE HECK” from the other runner who seemed so pissed that I decided not to pass her myself thinking a fat guy blowing by might really put her over the edge since she seemed a little upset already. Not one to let a statement go un challenged my kid exclaimed while turning in her tag. “ I guess you just didn’t have anything left and I came in under 49”. Not meaning anything by it other than the fact that some old fart who kept her going until mile 2 held her back until into mile 4 and she could have been faster. Possibly 2 minutes faster easily, sometimes dads are such a bore.

To her the time mattered but to me it was a chance to run for 40 minutes beside her and not have the other distractions in the world, no games, phones, or computers. No friends, who can or can’t sleep over drama, or anything other than a father, a daughter and a family friend running and talking for the better part of 4 miles about nothing in particular and nothing of consequence.

My wife the avid walker turned in a time faster than her eldest daughter a mile stone.

The 13 year old though was really the one that reminded me what it is really all about, she and her friend came in at 1:24:12 for the five miles, when I had last seen them at miles two they were shuffling along one hanging on the other’s back asking to be carried, sporting PJ pants and a neon yellow sweat shirt, the other in shorts and her new shoes very much looking the part but unconcerned about anything other than where water stop was. Just giggling and laughing and just enjoying being young, and healthy. Neither cared about their time, neither cared about their placement that day, or over all for the race series, the best friend was in 3^rd for the under 14’s. “So what???” She told me when I asked her. The only way I’d be in third place was if there were 3 of us, to me it mattered. Instead they looked at the house with the gated driveway, the great fountains at another were impressive but the failure to finish the back to the match the front façade was declared a travesty (I noticed it also so it must be bad), the tree lined streets reminded mine kid of where we used to live 11 hours away, and most importantly what they planned to order when they eventually crossed to end the adventure.

Things change today too quickly. We are all so mobile that childhood friendships don’t seem to be what I remember them to be, friendships that last most of childhood and in my case until a few years after we all got married and I moved away. Hell we’re transplants as of 4 years ago and soon enough the two friends will be in different high schools, in different social circles. But none of that mattered at the moment neither cared.

The image that will stick in my mind is of those superman Pajama pants and neon yellow shirt rounding the corner as mine swung so wide in the final turn as they began to sprint that I was about to walk to the gas station to get squeegee to get her off the plate glass window near by.

Leisurely strolling steps had given way to wild driving strides and flying elbows as they hit the home stretch. Suddenly it was like watching two kids who forgot how cool they were supposed to be now that they were teenagers running across the playground for the last open swing at recess on a warm winter morning.

I don’t look like much of a runner…but I am. Not insane distance things but 2-3 miles go by easily. I do it for health reasons. I do it to escape, most often on a treadmill when at home and wondering city streets, block after block and mile after mile when traveling. Why don’t I run outside where I live? In the summer one word sums it up HEAT!!!!

As I checked into a hotel that was on Lake Natoma in Northern Cal not far from Sacramento I noticed a sign stating no trail head parking. And a bicycle rental place. The next morning at 5:30 I wondered to the entrance and find a nice paved trail 2 lane bicycle trail.

I’m rarely intimidated but had seen in the first ¼ mile 3 serious looking cyclists went whizzing by and no other runners. So rather than continue to brave the paved surface I decided to take a makeshift railroad tie stair case toward the water and discovered a narrow dirt and stone trail through the brush and trees. Turning to the right I hopped a small creek and after a little while ran like a wild man toward a hill that was all dirt and too steep to make it to the top with out grabbing a near by tree no matter how hard I pushed with my thick little legs. It led to a dead end a few minutes later and I proceeded to slide and fall down a hill mostly feet first before landing on the stones and the trickle of water at the bottom.

My shins were screaming from the angle my feet went down the slope compared to the rest of me. My hand hurt from dragging it across the soft dirt as a pathetic and flawed means of steering. Gravity took me and had her way with me as I finally stopped. I bet I hadn’t come down a hill like that in 20 years was the first thought, not am I hurt, boy was that stupid, or anything of the sort. I bounced up and did what else but run in the opposite direction from where I had started. It was great I was revitalized, I loved that dirt and dodging the stones with every fourth or fifth stride. It was like I was 12 and in the woods behind my parents playing war again.

It might not be popular in today’s society to play war as little boys but when I grew up we played war, and cops a Casner Brothers. Not robbers but Casner Brothers who were at the time I was about 8 a couple of local red necks who were robbing banks. The police knew who they were but took forever to catch them even though everyone in my little town knew they drank at the bar around the corner on Wed. and Thursday night. No one turned them in. It was a different time. And we were running through the woods launching assaults with bottle rockets over head and cap or BB guns in hand long before the invention of paint ball and air soft guns which both still hurt and are slightly less idiotic to shoot at each other with.

As I bounded up the trail through the dew covered spider webs of dawn I looked at the water of the lake to one side and the comforting knowledge of the paved and populated bike trail to the left incase I should misjudge a stride and slip and fall on a rock shattering my ankle. After all no one in the world who knew me knew where I was or what I was doing. I had no ID, no cell phone, just a hotel room key tucked in a pocket, a pair of shorts, a cotton T, and running shoes.

Hopefully should anything ever happen to me and some one call my wife to see if she knows anything she’d know to ask. Are his running shoes in his suitcase? If not he’s with in 5 miles of the hotel look for the dumbest place to run he’ll be some where along that route.

At this point note to self. Spend the 10 bucks and buy a pair of those stupid runner ID tags that go on your laces. (FYI Santa brought me a Road ID for Christmas, see I’ve come a long way). What if a bear ate me, or a gang member shot me, or I quite literally got hit by a bus running through some city street or more likely an old lover who happened to be passing by in her soccer mom mobile and decided to even the score for my youthful and often misunderstood philandering by running me down with her dodge caravan on the way to precious’ soccer practice.

A simple 30 minute run turned into an hour out and an hour back. I committed the times foolishly to my mind 15 minutes in and once I do that there in no altering the objective unless it is making it harder or dying in the process. Besides I felt great, I was on an adventure, and I felt quite literally like a kid again. No one would miss me before 10 and it was at most 5:50. As light of day began to break through I could see others on the path above me from time to time but was mostly alone darting up even the slightest incline. I’ve always run harder up hills than I ever do on flats and declines. There’s something primal to it as my legs would burn with lactic acid and my heart would jump in my chest it was me against the hill.

I got pretty good at it as a kid since my backyard was all up hill. At one point my parents begged me to stop running up the two short steep paths which I had worn down to dirt. I never listened and some of my best memories are of crushing my childhood play mates up that hill after lighting an M80 in my sister’s sandbox and blowing small meticulously arranged plastic soldiers to bits in the name of a military offensive. Perhaps that is why she’s a pacifist and didn’t want to let her boys play with toy guns, a topic for another time.

45 minutes in I ran behind where my 10:00 meeting was looking at the back of the building. I passed a few others who looked and ran like regulars on the trail. As I began to get thirsty, always a sign that you’ve waited too long to hydrate I remembered that I didn’t have any water. Why because I going to trot along for a little while and head back to my hotel where water was plentiful. Not long after the hunger and energy crash started. Sure I had 4 Cliff bars in my suitcase, I had failed to prepare. I never was a good boy scout. No food, no water, and not going to give in. I was by god going to run, shuffle and if need be crawl for 60 minutes at whatever pathetic pace I could each way and who cares if I was a bit parched, I was dripping with sweat and it was a cool morning or it might have been worse.

At 62 minutes I turned back. My belly protesting a bit along the way I picked up the pace except for when running through the berry bushes I’d slow sometimes even walk when I could smell fresh black berries in the morning air, admiring them as they hung there in varying stages of ripeness. I could have picked a few but let’s face it I had dinner the night before so I wasn’t literally staving. The return trip was 4 minutes, less the 10 I lost by running the wrong way in the beginning it was still an improvement.

Huffing I walked across the parking lot into the lobby and watched all the people eating breakfast in the restaurant who were wondering what the cat had just drug in based on my appearance. Covered in dust and streaks of sweat. My shoes were trashed, they have over 400 miles on them and I’m due to break in a new pair but were just fine prior to the run now the outer sole was scrapped up parts of the tread torn. Later I found pebbles in the nubbies, I was so proud I called my wife. I remember the girl at Fleet Feet asking if I ran trails or outside. I all but scoffed at her “trails, for God’s sake no I run on treadmills in hotels and the occasional city street’.

So what Did I learn? Buy a geek water bottle holder thing and pack it , take my polar watch to make sure my heart rate is high enough to be getting the benefit from my effort,

Cliff bars aren’t just for lunch on crazy travel days any more put one in my pocket.

Perhaps the most important thing, I remembered why I started running in my teens. It wasn’t because of my marathoner aunt and uncle, it wasn’t just for conditioning for my other sports, it wasn’t to trot by Missy’s house and hope to see her and fall into a conversation, and it wasn’t to watch girls at the gym while trying to fight aging with every last bit of my being. I started running because I liked it and it felt good, and perhaps if done right from time to time still does.

Next time I’m going to rent a bike and ride the lake in the afternoon and run the trail the following morning and I might just run the wrong way and go up the same steep hill and come down it with the same lack of grace. So if you’re near Lake Natoma or Folsom Lake in early September I’ll be the guy who looks like he had no business running any further than the nearest burger joint but is loving it all none the less.

Now about those trail shoes….and we sang together “happy trails to you.”

Since this run I’ve run the 12 mile loop ,on another occasion logged 10 and make it my long run for the week when I’m there scheduling my business meeting around it. The next time will be January 8^th when a local friend is going to take me on new parts of the trail I haven’t explored. If you happen to be there about the break of day I’ll be the fat guy in tights who looks like he’s having way too much fun running next to the tall thin guy that looks like a runner.