Tuesday, March 14, 2017

meet me in the woods

i took a little journey to the unknown
and i come back changed, i can feel it in my bones
i fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see
now the darkness got a hold on me
holy darkness got a hold on me

how long, baby, have i been away?
oh, it feels like ages though you say it's only days

lord huron | meet me in the woods

Monday, October 24, 2016

summer of george

sitting on the back deck of the track shack, the plans were hatched over a heaping pot of red beans and rice and a few too many bottles of high life. running journal and a road atlas. everyone was lean as fuck and antsy. we were looking to test that summer base work out with some harder efforts while keeping the house rule of not waking up to an alarm or run fast in the heat of the day. that summer, we spent as much time thinking up alias names to race under as we did tapering. we always took advantage of the race day sign up because cash was always scraped together last minute. the mileage was high as everyone was enjoying the volume that the trails offered, but conscious of the need to turn the legs over. a few uninspired attempts at running daytime tempo's brought about the house rules concerning effort, but we needed an outlet for this growing fitness. discussions were brief and the rules were simple.

-races had to take place at night
-they couldn't be more than a 3 hour drive from brevard
-nothing longer than 10k 
-shirtless, no kits. 
-aliases for most of us, proper names for those capable of cash money.
-post race grub always at huddle house 

everyone was training for a fall marathon and were coming off of being counselors at brevard running camp, so that first trip entailed 6 guys in a station wagon hopping over the mountain to  crazy 8's. soon after, we hit pigeon forge, maggie valley and finished at midnight flight. 4 races in a quick 5 weeks while running 90 miles per week. the house was fast. i remember a few pr's coming out of those races, some prize money and a few comped post race hotel rooms. the game of finding new events without amending the original rules mellowed the cheetahs out while respecting the trials of miles necessary to build that foundation for those bigger pictures we all saw in our mind. nobody gave too much of a fuck and it was fun. everyone ran well, plus with all of us racing we didn't have to worry about an eager housemate half stepping us on those sunday long runs. everyone was sore and tired, so we built into the longer sessions slowly and finished strong. ego's were checked but accountability and stoke from the weekly fitness checks were high.

that summer was endless and never to be authentically repeated. a few years later when the shack got condemned by the county, guys moved on. a few got jobs. one of them wifed up and it was never the same afterwards. sure, a few of us still traveled to races and trained together but everyone was more focused. during the summer of george we had shared everything, including a schedule and a common goal. side jobs never were anything that would interfere with what we were doing. seasonal girls were abundant and enthusiastic it was some of the most effortless running i have ever done. it was pure freedom. no dogma. no designations. just running. the south is good for that. races are abundant and creative. no better place to be a road whore in the summer months.

to the cajun cannon, wild bill, randy, subcommandante inspector marcos, abstract & breece d'j pancake: long live the summer of george.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

horn lane

leaving was a helluva thing.

i wasn't solo this time as the blonde was in the car behind me ferrying the birds of bedlam and the orange and white kitty who loved to ride in cars. it rained for 36 straight hours and i was questioning the decision to go. it was hard to tell if the western appalachian mountains were crying or try to wash me clean. i was burnt out and jaded. the blonde was in need of a professional home and we had expanded her job search to include places that appealed to our lifestyle but also a compassionate take on her chosen profession. i was sad to leave a place i had left and returned to so many times, but you always know it'll be there to come back to if it didn't work out. it needed a commitment. something beyond moving far enough away that your folks can't just pop in on you at any time. 2,683.6 miles seemed like a nice round number. i was seeking authenticity and simplicity. eugene had a few desirables and that professional home for the blonde. i just wanted to drink good coffee, ride my bike and run with folks who took the task seriously, but not themselves. i was shocked at how easy it was to go. i think we thought about it for about 20 minutes. we both gave notice and flew out to find a place to live and three weeks later were on the road.

photo by gtach

10 years later to the day, i think about how much has happened and while i still think of myself as a western north carolina native, it's not hard to pass for an oregonian. we did come 2 hours east after 4 winters in eugene and have found bend to suit our recreation a skosh more, but the community i was welcomed into in a very short period of time in eugene are some of the most quality friendships that i have ever had and the experiences that i have had because of them have shaped me in an abiding way. the blonde found that professional home and left a confident therapist who could easily stand on her own in her field.

i'll never forget that little rainy rental on horn lane. the minimalist kitchen. the two pairs of ds trainers that always seemed to be a bit damp. that paved path on the river and the first weeks of speed work on the bark with LB, Bili, Tbag, lc, OD and Ticer. the smile that the blonde and i greeted each other with at the end of each day silently said that we had truly found our home in that community. i'm grateful we took the chance.

Monday, November 30, 2015


“The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”   T.H.White

Saturday, April 4, 2015


i don't remember much agony.

i was happy as fuck the entire day. i had a bib for states. i was healthy and running on my favorite trail. i was fortunate to have the support of good friends all day and a mindset of success. i remember being smart and patient. there is no story of an epic, scary fade or a crazy charge to the finish. yes, i was closing on karl, but that was a happy surprise that came late to me during the race. it felt good to spend the day so present in the moment that i was never aware of how close to that top 10 we were until really late in the day.

my M11 will always be a happy memory for me. sure, we "what if'd" but we all know it's mental masturbation when it's all said and done. i ran a haggin cup race on the 2nd hottest day in the history of the event on a few months of training. it still makes me smile when i think about it.

in the end, i ended up being lucky enough to run again in 2014. my goal was to beat 2-3 runners who were ahead of me in 2013 and run a faster time while still keeping that haggin cup mindset. all of those goals were accomplished, beating the M6, M10 and F1 from 2013 and not losing to anyone who i beat in 2013 and 38 minutes faster, at that. sure, it placed me M20 instead of M11, but more importantly i was 100 miles closer to that 1000 mile buckle that is my single biggest goal as an athlete. plus, i got to perform on our sports grandest stage. as for M11 in 2013, it seems like LB sums up the day quite well with his comment at the end of this video. for those of you with tickets to dance this year, enjoy the ride.

Monday, December 22, 2014


bird hunting in arivaca, 1986.
i hated those early wake ups. the smell of the bacon and eggs. i remember buff starting to spin and whimper in the back yard as soon as his nose caught the scent of the shotguns as they were removed from the gun safe. my dad handled most of the prep and always drove while my brother and i slept. the road south had no traffic, which was rare.

my dad had a stressful job. the air force had him moving a lot in my early years. he had a family and few things available to him that was truly his time. he started taking me along once we came back from europe as a way to spend more time with his boys. i had so many things i would rather do on a air force base full of kids. bird hunting with my dad was never high on my list. when we started, i hated the long ride in the truck and my dad's choice in music. he was committed. he squeezed as much into every trip as we could. jump shooting ducks at sunrise, a day of quail hunting and usually a night time return home once we were out of water and food. we would spend entire days saying little else other than things related to the safety of the hunt. i loved watching buff work. he was ugly as shit for his breed. last one adopted out of the litter and he worked with a chip on his shoulder and a fierce loyalty to his people. he's still the best bird dog i've ever seen, and i've seen a bunch of them. i was ambivalent about the shooting, but watching buff work and being outside without any guarantees was what became my reason for going.

we never stayed to any trails. my dad taught me how to use landmarks and the sun to recognize where i was. we would do seemingly endless loops in the hills, alternating walking and watching the dog while scanning the ground for rattlesnakes. lunch breaks always on a rise often looking across into mexico. it was always hot. the gun was always heavy and my dad never seemed to be "ready to go". it wasn't greed, it was pushing the limits of his time to himself. it was his endurance. i would be exhausted by the end of the day, but i never faltered. he seemed to know just how far to extend us without breaking us and over 4-5 years we eventually would spend every ounce of sunlight out hunting and often returned to the truck in the darkness before the long drive back to the base. he may have been a country boy from north carolina, but he was never out of his element in any location.

a couple of years back, my dad texted me that he couldn't understand where my endurance came from. i think he was looking back on his impression of a runners traditional path and not realizing that the one he walked me down many years ago was part of the foundation. when i started trail running in college i never needed a map, because i knew where i was just by looking around. i never panicked about being out after dark, because i had found the truck by moonlight hundreds of times before. i appreciated silence and sweat. i learned that fatigue is just a start, not an ending. i've been able to run in strange places and always feel at home. there is no doubt that i've found ways to complicate it all over the years, for sure. the culture of our sport attaches false limitations, but as those melted away i found myself aligning with the lessons of those days spent with my dad in the hills south of tucson among the strongest impressions. a metaphor of the loops we once walked.

i've had some clutch guidance and mentoring over the years. the things that stuck never came from coaches, but rather from interpersonal relationships and from observed example given freely and with sincerity. trials of miles. we should all be so lucky in all paths in our lives, not just our hobbies.

i'm grateful i was asked recently when it all started. these are great memories for me to look back on. 

Thursday, August 7, 2014

set list for mt hood

photo by lady g

photo by priscilla barker

photo by priscilla barker