rough cut

in my twenties and early thirties, i used to like to pass along books as gifts. usually, the book or the writer given was as easily measured of my own life as the chapters contained within. i used to make a game of hitting thrift and used book stores searching for the treasures, and i found some in many places. my own collections are complete, and once they are, i start passing copies along. strangely, i stopped doing it for the most part, when i left north carolina. i gifted the books because most of the writers were shared with me at a particular poignant place in my life. the writers themselves not necessarily the influence, but remembering when they found me is more of a touchstone. new friends are certainly warned that my small book shelf doesn't contain "lite reading". one particular female guest thought women by someone named bukowski might be nice bedtime reading while she was in town. i still remember the "what the fuck" conversation. clearly her theology didn't permit such learning's and her visit was shortened due to prejudgemental tidings. charles always did have a way with words.

harry crews was introduced to me by the subcommandante of crowsland. i was presented feast of snakes after a night of porching out at the jones place. despite being awake for over 24 hours and under the considerable influence of corn liquor; he was the first writer who's words could circumvent exhaustion. when i finally put the completed book down, i slept for 15 hours, woke up and instantly went searching for more. he was the first writer who wrote in a style i called "raw southern" that i had ever read and i loved him instantly. he has a shelf, and a lifelong place in my collection. i am lucky have his complete works and have shared most of it with many of my close friends. you either get it, or you don't. i'll never forget the woman at the used bookstore in knoxville who sold me my first copy of a childhood. she told me that she was glad to "get it out of here" and warned me that the book would give me nightmares. it was the first time i remember recognizing guilt in someones voice. i think something about her past reminded her of the words within that book, and selling it was her way of purging that.

one of the favorite things i have ever heard him say "psychiatrist, shrinks, so on, say that anger and rage is a bad thing and a debilitating emotion that you ought to purge yourself of...i find it to be the greatest motivating force i know."

hagg

this is how it starts...

(dano, lewdogg and i before adding water. photo by longrun picture company)

february has always seemed a little early to start racing. i mean spring training for baseball players has barely started and like ultrarunners, they play all spring, summer and fall. i've never been fired up about hagg. i was reminded that i had announced "never again" after crossing the finish line last year. what can i say? things change and that is especially true for me over the last 365 days. thinking about not running hagg just didn't sit right with me. maybe it was fear of missing out. truth is, i enjoy the weekend that surrounds running the race. staying with friends at mcmenamins, soaking in the hot springs, drinking local beer. every year finds me making new ones. i always get a kick out of the look on folks face when they realize "oh...yuuur monkeyboy!" it's like they envisioned andrew dice clay and are a little disappointed that i'm just a proletariat from mountains of north carolina. fair enough. usually by the end of the weekend they understand just a bit better.


(turtlepace and her 5 year spoils)

this year was all about the blonde and her 5th hagg finish. the hall of mud beckoned and for a non ultrarunner, the idea of earning a belt buckle was appealing without having to run 100 miles to get it. it takes persistence and patience to look 5 years ahead towards the destination. i don't think anyone was more excited after the 25K than her. it was cool to get to watch her and other friends race on sunday after they stood out in the rain and mud waiting on us the day before. the falcon and i made it cyclocross style with knee high mud boots and plenty of good natured hazing. nice to see the falcon's wife get her first finish. she took one look at that buckle and i can tell she'll be back for more.

nice to spend some time running with the dano and lewdogg. we sounded like a bunch of gossiping hens running up the road. when you've shared the trials of miles, it's easy to slip into a very comfortable place and hard not to enjoy what your doing, despite the task at hand. in the end, it's as simple as going for a 31 mile run on some trails and not being sad about busting your ass in the mud a time or two.

this is how it ends...

(dano, lewdogg, neil and i imitating jiffy pop popcorn. photo by longrun picture company)

we have a great little series here in oregon. appreciating that is not always easy when you have a nasty case of wanderlust, but it doesn't change the truth of the matter. our event directors are good folks and if drama exists, we the customer certainly don't know much about it and that is becoming a rare occurrence as money and growth invade our sport. be thankful, oregonians. it's pretty fucking rad here.

winter mix

nice to be scrubbing phil's out from under my nails again on a regular basis. it's been nice having time for powder days when they come, instead of missing out. being passionate and driven to learn something new. being inspired by the challenge that started as a wager between a couple of locals and believing i'll see it through. excited about getting back to what used to work and feeling like a fool for being influenced by a trend for far too long. watching a friend of mine experience a dream coming true, while another had a heart deeply broken. teaching someone something i am good at, and watching them struggle with it knowing where they will end up. seeing that belief in their eyes when they watch me do it. going it alone, and being motivated by that. missing warm salt water and wave reports. missing tee tee, every day. having a former belgian champion in your home, and discovering he's very human, not a god, despite being worshiped each fall and winter. building mileage and confidence and washing away the pessimism of others. rebuilding my relationship with running, and not taking it for granted. making plans that i can see through, and being excited by them. pedaling to see red fang, die antwoord and jim lauderdale all within a 48 hours of each other and living to tell about it. learning to tell people "no". coming to grips with the grip of social media. surfing in water so cold it makes you hate it. being okay with la nina blessing canada, but not the cascades. coveting a snow bike, like i do every winter. reading something that changes your life. not having anything to say, so not blogging about useless shit.

i'm in a fortunate place.

soul

“all this happened, more or less.” --vonnegut

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been a busy winter. hibernation of sorts for words. keeping things simple by surrounding myself with organic experiences while pushing away those being shared on the world wide web. i had a day in november where i started looking something up on the internet and the next thing i knew, it was 4 a.m. okay. enough. i thought of my homie in tucson who's totally disconnected and thought about how envious i was in the moment of what he didn't have. more so, he didn't have this self perceived need to know.

**************

i used to surf alone, a lot. when i was young, i certainly didn't understand why things appeal to us and i at least had the presence of mind to notice and acknowledge it. i remember that once i got wise enough to understand my relationship with my body, the board and the wave, i found that i preferred paddling out, solo. some of my buds used to call it my social hibernation time. it was said in jest, but i could tell there was a hint of "is it me?" in the tone. it was never a hard path to follow for me.

**************

stop and hear the music

"In Washington DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about four minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule. About four minutes later, the violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk. At six minutes, a young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again. At ten minutes, a three-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly. At forty-five minutes: The musician played continuously. Only six people stopped and listened for a short while. About twenty gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32. After one hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all. No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music. This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people’s priorities. This experiment raised several questions: In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? If so, do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context? One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made… How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?"

the washington post. thanks to the firepotter for sharing this.

puglsey love

Targhee Snow Bike 11-27-11 from Dave Byers on Vimeo.

i sent his article to the local nordic mafia and i could almost hear the panic attack happening on email. no tolerance what so ever. i have always had a crush on the original purple puglsey. finding a regular winter loop would prompt me to pull the trigger. cheaper than trying to build my own, for sure. thanks to the grand puba of fat at surly for turning me on to this article.

recipe

we don't get a recipe card with favorable experiences laid out with guarantees down to the last tsp. we have to make choices and live with them. some play out, like procrastinating on getting into that yoga class that turns out to be exactly what the body needed on that day. sometimes they don't, like the 8 mile pedal home when it's 38 degrees and raining and you forgot to pack anything that had any chance of keeping you warm or dry. both experiences are equal in that they leave lasting impressions, but also equal in that we will probably get to experience them, again. they are not singular.

the balance of the seasons. the days are short. the single track is a little harder to find, but all the trails are open. making choices on what to do with free time and trying to not feel obligated or guilty towards one particular discipline. i love to run year round. but, i love the fact that i don't have to if i don't want to. i prefer time with friends, outdoors, over a indoor henry lightcap run on the treadmill just so i can put a digital number in my training log. i don't own a picture of myself on treadmill, yet i have thousands of me playing outside. it's cool to have a beer and sit by the fire. a ski with your gal. a slow snowshoe walk with an vintage warrior of seasons past, who probably was a a lot like yourself back in the day and is just grateful for the chance to get outside again, safely. balance out your spirit with your mileage, so when you go to that place of focus, numbers and daily totals. you won't lose sight of why we really live the way we do.

in the meantime. bonne chance to those who have tickets to play the participation lottery at your favorite nationwide runcations. win or lose, have a beer and celebrate the dream of it all.