Friend in iffy band situation says: “It’s like dating a flaky hot girl – you just enjoy the time you have.”
Says the five-year-old after watching Dad struggle along: “Jogging is just fake running.”
Friend in iffy band situation says: “It’s like dating a flaky hot girl – you just enjoy the time you have.”
Says the five-year-old after watching Dad struggle along: “Jogging is just fake running.”
Late last Sunday afternoon before performing at Big Top Chautauqua, I donned my running gear and ran straight up the face of Mount Ashwabay. Just about hurled a lung, but made it. Turned at the very tip-top, and was rewarded with a many-miles view of Lake Superior and the Apostle Islands in the sun, and down at the foot of the ski hill, the blue and pearl-gray tent waiting patiently for the evening’s ticketholders to file in. The sound of the Blue Canvas Orchestra in rehearsal floated up on the breeze. I drank it all in, and thought too of my family at home. Made me feel lonesome and privileged all at once. Running down the hill, I followed a trail of soft red sand that wove through the trees, everything quiet under the cover of leaves.
Remember that post I wrote about running a mile recently? I ran it in 5:50, but told someone it didn’t look like 5:50. And it certainly didn’t feel like 5:50. It looked and felt ugly. Now, thanks to photographer, geographer, radio host and international track journalist Sean Hartnett, I have photographic proof that I am still working on that whole gazelle thing. If you think the photo above reflects a certain internal turmoil, check out this one:
Rodale Press has just published Going Long: Legends, Oddballs, Comebacks & Adventures, a collection of stories from Runner’s World magazine. The anthology includes a profile I wrote of Olympic marathoner Ryan Hall. I recall so clearly the smell of hot pine needles on the still day when I visited his family and met his wonderful grandmother.