night shift

out on the path for my midnight run. smelled him before i saw him. saw the plastic bowl with the raccoon standing, pensive, over the bowl, eating. saw the two other coons and the male and female mallards, waiting. saw the bread crumbs ejected from the underside of the bridge towards the ducks. i stopped dead in my tracks so not to disturb what i was seeing. too late, the coons spooked into the tunnels of rhodo and the projector and protector emerged. jake is his name. homeless. these raccoons are the 3rd generation that he "has raised". the ducks showed up last year and have never left. they meet here every evening. how he gets his bag of bread and his cat chow he feeds his raccoons, i don't know. he told me all about his 3 raccoons, like a proud papa. offered to show me where he buried their grandmother. he tells me of how he his dad and mom couldn't hold his family together, so it's important to him that he holds this one. he's been sober for 3 years. jobless and homeless for 5 of those. he needs me to know that his sobriety is because these guys rely on him. i ask him about what would happen if he left, and he assures me he never will. they need each other. them for food, him for companionship and for a reason to live. i am floored at how calmly and with truth he said this. i shook his hand, gladly. clipped on my headlamp and bid goodnight and finished my run so things could return to balance in jakes and the animals world. i haven't been able to shake the compassion i saw. the night shift.

buddha belly

remix of a party not yet attended. kalifornication is in full affect. i have road rage. i used the little bottle of conditioner that the hotel provides. i found the radio stations to be two parts country, two parts hispanic, two parts christian, 4 parts hip-hop/top 40 with the emphasis on the boom, boom, boom. take 5 songs, rinse, repeat. the air stinks here, but it's dry and allergy free. the canyons are close, it's 91 degrees and i'm still drinking coffee.

let it be said that the best mexican food i have ever consumed was purchased out of a small camper that looks like something mickey rourke would cook meth in. let is also be said that i have yet to spend more than 5 bucks on any of this food. i don't know how it's done, but i'm gettin while the gettin's good.

caught a slight glimpse of my potential future. the old skool who's who of states long past were camped out in carol's yard in michigan bluff pouring margarita's and gu2o on saturday during the robinson to the river classic with a few bro's. sunday i got the chill in their lazy presence comparing yoga poses, injuries and beer consumption all while watching someone with a tapeworm lasso-ing lizards.

the avett brothers fuckin layed it down at the mcdonald theatre this past week. i'm pretty sure i attended the first show they ever charged admission for close to 10 years ago. i am also pretty sure i was one of the few who were actually still there at the end of the show. when a blue grass group covers a pseudo punk version of cypress hill's "i wanna get high"...your gonna clear the rotary club out fairly quickly. in the cackalak, you don't fuck with folks's blue grass. i've been a fan ever since. put that in your can of dip and chew it.

there's more, but i'll stop here.

flow (43)

picked up the dusty whips and took a deep sniff. dust, manzanita and feet. i like it. reluctance to throw them back on until my return south, but the dust on my fingers and wiped on my shorts were just too much to deny. there is silence in a late night run. my watchband was still a little sweaty from the earlier run with lewdogg and craig, but who cares about a little dampness. took a minute despite the short break to smooth out and find the rhythm. the bark welcomed me. beady eyed raccoons and kitty cats out looking to supplement their cat chow with large pounces and anxious crouches. the demons drudged up earlier and i had to put them down. this run is for *me* and for no other reason. you feel the flow on the bark. when your going good, you glide. when your recovering, it feels like running through a hamster cage. the cadence was much different when i hit the pavement for the first street crossing. flow. rhythm. under the street light with the first season's gypsy moths fluttering around the orb waiting for death from above. i hear a door shut and see a lighter flicker, then the smoke. passing car illuminates the eyes of the deer. they let me pass in the darkness close, frozen and waiting for the slightest deviation from the path they have come to trust. if you keep your flow, they will keep theirs. it's unspoken between man and beast. most of these deer have seen me before and know my path. they know they are safe. darkness on gae and supergae. through the mini-park with two high schoolers trying to decide which base to land on without getting seen. youth and lust. the daydreams begin and just like that i'm back home for the 3rd shower of the day. beer with a water chaser. compression socks and kitties sleeping on my lap. the awesome midnight run.

kamp v 3.0

the temple of toughening. kamp v 3.0. shorter stint this year, but the integrity of quality was maintained. word has gotten out and many now choose to join the phenomena known as "oregonians" and our training runs. the only thing that seemed to be missing this year was the heat and ajw's drooling. we had the most ripped 50 year old on the face of the planet join us for all 8 days and left kamp fitter, but still unable to burp and his iq was diminished by 14 points. word is he did manage to pack on a solid one pound increase in muscle mass while he was down there. this may have been the biggest accomplishment to come out of kamp.

this year served a solid purpose for me. i had some points where i had some rough training runs in the past. no demons in play this year and i saw some ridiculous splits for some sections. perceived speed helps. kinda like mountain bikers riding moto in the offseason to get better reaction. i left stronger. hungry, ready for more. i'll get my wish in a few weeks. for now, we have 52 days...