2014 by the numbers (a year of fewer logs)

Using last year as a guide:

• 66 books read (down 10 from last year) or 23,192 pages (down about 4,000 from last year)
• 103 movies watched (down 9, 2 fewer in theaters, 2 fewer re-runs)
• 1059 holes of disc golf in 58 rounds (down from 114) of disc golf at 13 different courses (7 new ones from last year)
• 3 aces at the new short Johnny Roberts on 9/4 hole 16, 10/14 hole 1, 12/18 hole 14
• 6 rounds of disc golf random draw doubles (although 2 were Cali/doubles alone) with Winter Warriors
• 16 meals of pizza
• 1 labored 10k
• 2 job applications
• 0 job interviews 
• 1 move down the street to a new old house
• 2 road trips, one to Missouri and one to Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks
• 1 family trip to San Diego
• 1 wedding trip to Wisconsin
• 9 states visited, none new
• 0 foreign countries visited, however we did go glamping in Montana. That's similar, right? 
• 1 wedding attended
• 0 Ultimate tournaments played 
• 1 torn ACL resulting in my first surgery and a long long long long recovery (ongoing)
• 184 miles of bike-riding across the plains of Colorado in 3 days

Books 2014

Another good year for reading, though not one for five-star efforts.

1. The Girl who was on Fire
2. The Rosie Project
3. Millionaire Teacher
4. The Lowland
5. Teacher Man
6. Truth in Advertising
7. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Future
8. The Picture of Dorian Gray
9. Long Lost
10. Lonesome Dove
11. David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the art of Battling Giants
12. The Curiosity
13. The Memory of Running
14. Suburban Nation
15. Little Bee
16. Inferno
17. The Circle
18. The Art of Travel
19. The Universe vs. Alex Woods
20. The Meaning of Sports
21. Screwball: A Novel
22. Stitches
23. Full Upright and Locked Position
24. The Jelly Effect
25. The Best American Short Stories 2012
26. The Wolf of Wall Street
27. The Diaries of Adam and Eve
28. Attachments
29. Play Dead
30. Skippy Dies
31. Hold Tight
32. The Millionaire Next Door
33. The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards
34. This is the story of a happy marriage
35. Top Dog: The Science of Winning and Losing
36. You Remind Me of Me
37. Frog Music
38. The Magician 
39. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry
40. True Evil
41. Landline
42. Pilgrims Wilderness: A true story of faith and madness on the Alaskan frontier
43. If only you people could follow directions
44. The Luminaries
45. Parentology
46. Think Like a Freak
47. The Power of Habit
48. Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, do they live forever?
49. The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P.
50. The Financial Lives of Poets
51. Tenth of December
52. Jim Henson: The Biography
53. Sycamore Row
54. Let's Get Lost
55. Alif the Unseen
56. To Rise Again at a Decent Hour
57. Yes Please
58. The Buddha Walks into a bar
59. Start with Why
60. Dark Places
61. The Cuckoo's Calling
62. The Silkworm
63. Missing You
64. This is a book
65. Slow Man
66. Running with the Buffaloes

Most excited by The Lowland, Lonesome Dove, The Circle, The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P., The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards, Running with the Buffaloes.

Movies 2014

This doesn't include the many TV shows I also watched, but as tradition dictates, here we go:

1. Jobs
2. The Village Barbershop
3. Road Trip (re-watch)
4. The Internship
5. Finding Bliss
6. Bachelorettes (re-watch during chores)
7. Her (theater)
8. Monster University
9. The Heat
10. Cool Hand Luke (re-watch)
11. Last Vegas
12. Don Jon
13. Ender's Game
14. About Time
15. The English Teacher
16. Peace, Love, & Misunderstanding
17. Some Girl(s)
18. Lost in Translation (re-watch)
19. The Money Pit (re-watch)
20. Veronica Mars
21. To do List
22. Rush
23. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest
24. The Names of Love
25. The Bling Ring
26. Splinterheads
27. A.C.O.D
28. Nebraska
29. The Book Thief
30. The Jane Austen Book Club
31. The Lone Ranger
32. Definitely Maybe (re-watch)
33. Thanks for Sharing
34. Back to the Future (re-watch)
35. Back to the Future III (re-watch)
36. Take me home tonight
37. 3 Idiots
38. Next
39. American Hustle
40. Saving Mr. Banks
41. Anchorman 2 (couldn't finish)
42. The Details
43. Sexting
44. World War Z
45. August: Osage County
46. The Wolverine
47. Boy (drifted in and out)
48. Happy Gilmore (re-watch)
49. Austenland
50. RIPD
51. Sleepless in Seattle (re-watch)
52. Non-Stop
53. The Grand Budapest Hotel
54. The Other Woman
55. Music & Lyrics (re-watch)
56. The Goonies (re-watch, Old Town square)
57. Much Ado about Nothing (Joss Whedon)
58. Terri
59. Frankie Go Boom
60. Dallas Buyers Club
61. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
62. Thor: Lost World
63. The Night We Never Met (drifted in and out)
64. Lee Daniels "The Butler"
65. The Muppets Most Wanted
66. Elizabethtown (re-watch, re-suffer)
67. Mrs. Henderson Presents
68. Wolf of Wall Street (quit at 2 hours)
69. Hunger Games Catching Fire (re-watch, Old Town)
70. Captain Phillips
71. Divergent
72. The Other Guys
73. Delivery Man
74. Lola Versus
75. Monuments Men
76. Ghosts of Girlfriends Past
77. You will meet a tall dark stranger
78. Gone Girl (Theater)
79. The Way Way Back
80. Lego: The Movie
81. A League of Their Own (re-watch)
82. The Fault in Our Stars
83. Neighbors
84. Groundhog Day (re-watch)
85. The Brass Teapot
86. Herbie Rides Again (re-watch)
87. New York, I Love You
88. Draft Day
89. The Thomas Crowne Affair (re-watch)
90. How to Fall in Love
91. Sex Tape
92. Future Boyfriend
93. Acceptance
94. Detroit Unleaded
95. Bad Words
96. Love Actually (re-watch, Christmas tree)
97. The Love Bug (re-watch)
98. Begin Again
99. Guardians of the Galaxy
100. Hitched for the Holidays
101. Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas
102. I give it a year
103. Gravity

That's two in the theater (wow!) and twenty second or more viewings. There was lots of disappointment. Considerable recency bias, but Nebraska, The Way Way Back, The Brass Teapot, Gone Girl and Gravity strike me as the most memorable. 

A nicer Christmas Poem

Under the mistletoe
Santa and Mrs. Claus
meet an Elf on the Shelf

They share cookies and gossip
noting the naughty
but focusing on the nice

Rudolph slides in and
jumpstarts the party
Frosty arrives to sing
a tune

Where is Jesus?
He didn't RSVP
But that's ok

A nice Christmas Poem

What do you mean
all the icing tastes the same?

Green is mint
Red is cherry
Yellow is best

Food coloring has no flavor
added to white icing

Merry Christmas to you too, Mom

Excuse me sir, is that bandwagon full?

Baseball has faded in and out of my consciousness since the strike in 1994. I've had years where I was lenient in my punishment of the sport during the last twenty years, but the games I've been to in that time still number less than one per year. The arrival of baseball in Washington DC coincided with some of my leniency. The newness there was quickly replaced by talent and I attended a few more of the old ball games.

I always had some sense of the Royals during those years. My sense was that they weren't doing well. I'd read about their farm system and how great it was. It seemed possible with what little I know and how often I saw their best players, the only ones whose names I knew, they'd all ended up on someone else's successful roster.

I didn't tune in, certainly not on a transistor radio, and tracking standings is a fuzzy childhood breakfast memory that fell somewhere before the comics and after a cursory glance at the sports page headlines. The Internet has brought me back to the sports page headlines and baseball makes those headlines in the summer. I read the Washington Post and it tells the tales of the Nationals and the Orioles. The Nationals always felt like somebody else's team. And for a while somebody else's team was losing just like my old team, the Royals. The Orioles were somebody else's team. Baltimore is incredibly far away from DC, perhaps especially because it's only 40 miles away. The Post hyped the team and we all pinned our hopes on Strasburg and Harper and a team of Nats. Things got exciting, but my attention got diverted. Baseball was still there though. There were Cardinals games that had to be watched after wedding rehearsals. There were Phillies fans who tried to be more obnoxious than Boston fans who were trying to be more obnoxious than Yankees fans. I stayed out of that fray, only watching it in passing.

For some reason, I started to long for home. I bought a Royals hat, there in the 26th year without a playoff appearance. I didn't really tune in more, but I satisfied a need to identify where I was from. I wore the hat proudly. It's my favorite color and identifies my home. I could barely remember baseball success, but it was important to show my support, not necessarily to the Royals, but to Kansas City. Something about roots and the trees that grow ever taller.

I moved from DC out to Colorado. The hat became a conversation piece. People here know someone from KC or have a connection of their own. It wasn't too far away to consider. It was just far enough away to discuss. The conversations weren't always about the Royals and if they were I could hardly hold my own. Baseball hasn't been the same without my grandpa. He kept it interesting. He bought me that transistor radio. He listened to his own with one earpiece plugged in. He taught me how to keep score and had a loyalty to the Royals and to sports like no one else I knew. Baseball will always be connected in my mind with him.

About three weeks ago, I heard that the Royals might win their division. The paper no longer passes by my breakfast table and the standings don't seem as powerful or as easy to find on the Internet. I found myself starting to search for the standings. I started to check on those boys in blue to see how they were doing. They struggled against the Tigers and despite some late season drama lost the division lead, but earned a wild card bid.

The news that the Royals were in the playoffs for the first time in 29 years was a popular sports talk conversation. It's been so long since the Royals were in the playoffs that I didn't even realize that the Wildcard game was not a series, just a game. I went to bed before it was over and woke up to realize that the Royals had more playoffs to play.

I still haven't mustered the energy to find a game or even stay up to see one to its finish. I'll wear my hat proudly, wave my Facebook status updates, and keep checking on the team. I'm not the fan of baseball or the Royals that I once was (I don't even have a Royals watch any more), but if there's room on the bandwagon, I'm happy to jump on. These Royals look like they are having fun. I like a team having fun and I like an underdog story.

These guys might win me all the way over yet. If they don't, I wouldn't mind if they just won it all. I'm rooting for KC.

Pedal the Plains 2014- "My butt hurt too much to sit and my legs were too tired to stand"

There were the big themes of community, being an athlete, and self-propulsion. Those themes like my memories are just flashes. The pieces don't seem to add up to the whole, but the soreness in my legs and the reluctant smile on my face suggest there was so much more. More than the clanging of my fender, the stench of manure, the cornfields framing the road before opening up to blue sky that didn't end. Cyclists were ahead and behind (mostly ahead) as far as I could see and I was pedaling, pedaling, pedaling for 184 miles.

On Friday, Eagle, Dragon, and I (the Whippoorwill of the trip) met up with Hawk at the starting line of Wiggins. The town of 900 was flooded with cyclists unloading cars, registering and getting ready to pedal the plains. Post-introductory haikus, we got off to a leisurely start about an hour after a portion of the masses. We rolled slowly on soaking up the sun and the education and aid spots. I learned three things at the education stops that day:  1. Farmers (represented here) are opposed to proposition 105 because they would like federal standards for GMO labeling and because the inconsistencies across state lines in labeling can be costly. 2. That smell was sweet beets. 3. The job of Captain Corn-elius is a hot one.

We'd travel 34 miles in about 5.5 hours (less than 3 of ride time). The sun was warm which only contributed to the feeling that all of this was just a warm up.  We'd arrive in Fort Morgan for the first night's festivities. Those festivities included camping on a high school football field and showering in an increasingly stinky locker room. They also included the arrival of Snake with dinner. Eagle cooked up some fine burritos and we chowed down while the camp emptied to head to town. We'd make our way to town later to catch a few tunes care of the Atomic Drifters. The kids seemed to enjoy the show, or at least their light up whirly-birds. I've never seen so many toys flying through the air. It was more captivating than the car show.

We dodged the sprinklers that others had to battle late Friday night and enjoyed some of Eagle's oatmeal. We were out by 8:15 and behind most of the crowd. Saturday was the Century option day and there were some extra nerves to go around. Hawk was off early. Eagle, Snake, and I tried to give chase, but Snake quickly fell back into his own pace. I hung with Eagle for a bit and we were joined by a powerhouse of a man. I couldn't keep on pace with those two and fell into my own rhythm.

At the aid station in Brush! (the exclamation point is official, but has to be tongue-in-cheek, right?), I spotted Eagle and he headed out still trying to chase down Hawk. I enjoyed the Brush! food and drinks and waited a while to see if I'd spot Snake. We were all a little worried about Dragon because his bike and his fitness have been giving him some trouble, but figured the support in the ride was strong and he could ask for help if he needed it. Snake pulled up soon after and we rode off together. He was riding the century and had a plan. He couldn't dilly dally at aid stations if he was going to finish prior to the 6 PM course closure.

From Brush! I decided I should ride with Snake until my turn off. It was nice to ride with him and chat and have someone to root on. Our pace wasn't quite the same. I couldn't drag him up the hills and as a big guy he wasn't afforded the same drafting advantage I got from following him. Still I tried to help where I could and be supportive. The hills were frequent, the wind was blowing, and the hills kept coming more than I think most of us expected. My fender rattled and clanged on a rough section of road. Snake was lucky he wasn't near by then. Saturday was turning into a pretty tough day. I'd pulled away between aid stations, but then it all started to unravel. My water ran out. My stomach dropped out. I wondered where the next aid station would be. I pulled off and got a bite to eat. That helped me go the next 1.5 miles to the aid station. It got better from there, though still tough.

Snake and I regrouped at the aid station, both looking a little worse for the wear after 56 miles. We headed out again and pretty much stuck together. Fewer words were spoken. More time was spent just pedaling. The plains and the hills rolled by. We neared the 72 mile split and said our farewells. Snake asked if I was tempted to join him on the century. I was, but decided that 74 miles and a Sunday ride would still be plenty for me to handle.

I got to camp, spent a couple hours organizing, resting, and battling a headache before Hawk and Eagle arrived with Dragon. They arrived together as the century loop met up with the course. They all finished together in triumph. Snake would battle his way in alone at 5:41 PM. Right on schedule with his plan of attack. Everyone was exhausted but buoyant. Group decisions seemed harder to come by. Perhaps it was Sterling, but I think it was tired bodies and minds. Eventually Hawk and I ended up in town for an ok meal at Chef Charles BBQ wagon and a Sugar Beets Days that didn't strike our fancy. Sleep could not arrive quickly enough.

Sunday, we seemed to be moving toward an earlier departure. Snake was headed home. Dragon was planning to go with him and then changed his mind. He'd made it this far and he was going to go another 66 miles. It was a gutsy decision. In final preparations, Eagle realized that Dragon's rear wheel was dragging (hence the name) on his brakes. Adjustments and other delays ensued. There were about 5 tents and 20 riders left when we made our departure.

Hawk left us as we departed Sterling. We wouldn't see his powerful pedaling again. I was in no place to tag along. My legs had no go. I pedaled along with Dragon and Eagle and they got to experience the joy of my clanging fender and its annoying ongoing clatter. As if the sound wasn't enough, things with the fender really started to fall apart. I made a couple stops to try to fix things, but ended up pulling pieces off and stashing them for later. I got back up to those two which woke me up a little. I stopped at the aid station in Merino where I was charmed. I don't know if it was the one room metal town hall or the 3/4 size mural of a town that got me, but something was cool about the little town where they make/fix/sell amusement rides for fairs. I'm also partial to Merino because a nice tech (the second actually) made another fix on my fender. This one would hold until the end of the ride. The rattle wasn't all gone, but the danger was. The rattle was reduced enough that I could again be around people without embarrassment.

I left Eagle supporting Dragon a little after Merino feeling ok. After stops it was still taking a while to get back up to speed, but climbing the slightest of hills I finally found a bit of a groove. I chased down a guy, but just as I caught him to draft he tucked in with his slower group. He then chased me down a little while later and I let him draft for a bit. That good drafting karma would come in handy later. The miles to go clicked down below 50. The sidewind was sometimes a tailwind. The road was so smooth that my fender was almost silent. None of this could prevent all the riding I'd done from making its presence felt.

My mind was saying go. I was well fueled and had plenty of fluids, but things just weren't clicking along. Then my luck changed. A group of 3 passed me. They were ahead by 100 meters or more, but most have hit a lull or had trouble getting around some traffic, because with a little burst I was able to catch up and tuck in behind them. The lead guy was carrying the load. He led the group for half an hour or more. The second guy was a chatterbox, but it wasn't always clear who he was talking to. The third was a woman with headphones who seemed content to tuck in and ride in the wake. I joined the fun without asking. There wasn't quite enough road to stagger myself in the side wind, but I was getting enough benefit and motivation to stay with them. After quite a while, they pulled away and I thanked them for the lift. Later, they'd roll by again and I'd latch on again at their invitation. I don't know how many miles ticked away behind that group, but it was a huge help.

With 17 miles to go at a Cargill (meat solutions) aid station, I rested and refueled, but I was ready to be done.  I stretched, but didn't linger. I don't remember much from a lot of those miles. My butt hurt too much to sit and my legs were too tired to stand. I remember spying some towers that I hoped were the finish in Wiggins and I remember being passed by a large man. I know it's not a race, but that racing mentality has served me well. I kept the guy in my sights and was quite pleased to pass him before the end.

Now I've come to the finish where I had some pulled pork and waited to cheer Eagle and Dragon across the finish line. I wandered around in pain. I borrowed a cow bell and cheered them in.

All those words, all those miles and what I'm really saying is that it's a special thing to tackle a challenge with others. I might just give it another go next year.

August 21: Old Faithful and beyond

We woke up early and packed up a wet muddy tent and were off by 7:50. We stopped to admire the Grand Prismatic Springs, Black Sand Basin, and Excelsior Geyer (which actually erupted a bit) before catching Old Faithful under overcast skies. It wasn't ideal viewing for any of it, but there was something almost church-like in viewing Old Faithful with so many (100+?) others.

We then made our way out of Yellowstone, neglecting to stop for a bison with a lake behind him/her. Our only stops were the Haynes Old Photo Shop (awesome, if unfocused exhibit) and the Yellowstone sign for photos. We chose to press on to Cody for a late lunch. It's pretty in northwest Wyoming and Cody look like an Old West (and New West) town. We at at Rocky Mountain MoJoe, walked around town, and motored on. C did the bulk of the afternoon driving and after getting a little lost we arrived at our campground at Boulder Park.

The car seemed tired and the rain arrived on schedule, just as we did. Frustrated and bickering we set up the tent in the rain because I am tired of waiting for rain to stop. The inside got a little wet, but hopefully we can survive the night.

The rain stopped. I made a fire! C cooked spaghetti. The fire had a few fits and starts, but kindling appears to have been our previous downfall. It's going now. It cooked our banana boats and I'm sitting on a rock catching up on my journal. Night is falling, the creek is spraying off rocks and C is reading Tolstoy by the last of the daylight. She read me a passage that aptly compared marriage to boating. It isn't always easy or pretty, but I'm glad she's in my boat.

August 20: Big Horn Pass trail

Without watches, we got up and had our oatmeal on an overcast day. We went 20 feet behind our campsite and set out on the Big Horn Pass trail. I was packing bear spray was and was relieved to have it. The morning remained overcast and we were nearly along on the trail. It wound a mile or so through the woods before we crossed a creek. We elected to shed our boots and hunt for a shallow spot. The crossing was so cold and we were so slow from having to pick our way through the rocks of the creek bed that we decided to ford all future streams with boots on. We had several miles of fairly flat hiking in a rolling meadow. We felt comfortable that we'd see a bear coming. The clouds kept the heat away. Yellowstone was gorgeous from this vantage point. This was the way to enjoy it. We came to realize just how much New Zealand and Yellowstone/Teton have in common. Yellowstone wins on crowds.

We came to another creek and lost the trail. We wandered nervously in a group of trees, followed a false path and passed over a spot that looked like a large animal had recently rested in it. We picked our way around staying close to the creek when C spotted another group finding their way back to the trail. We abandoned our search and headed for where we'd seen the other group. They'd been on the right track and we reconnected with the trail. We soon passed the other group and they claimed GPS said we were 6 miles from the trailhead (5.5-ish from our starting spot). We couldn't confirm it, but didn't believe it. The trail was only 8.4 miles long. We re-entered woods and began to go up. We went about a mile when I discovered the freshest scat I'd seen. We decided that was as good a spot as any to turn around. We aren't sure it was bear, but it seems likely to me based on some of the other large droppings we saw.

We ate lunch with a view of what we think was Quadrant mountain. It was a good spot with a creek down the hill below and blue skies now framing our mountain view. We trekked back in the sunshine. I briefly abandoned landscape photography for butterfly and wildflower photos as we made our way back. Our last creek crossing was a wet one. Our boots haven't recovered a day later (good to know) although they've had very little opportunity to sit in the sun.

We broke our car embargo to return to Mammoth Hot Springs for a 3-buck shower, some elk watching and, of course, some ice cream. We returned to camp in the rain. We tried to wait it out, but eventually settled for Mexican crepes in the car (bananas, chocolate, peanut butter wrapped in a tortilla). I don't think it rained after dark, but the tent stayed wet. The night was warmer though. I didn't even need my stocking cap.

August 19: Glamping

I had a rough time sleeping on the cot in the tee-pee as expected. Horses came around to eat the grass near the tents and I tried to lie still while they ate. It was nerve-wracking. One chose the grass just on the other side of the canvas from my cot. I could hear it well, but the shadow of the horse's head confirmed the crap out of it. I finally slid to the floor of the tee-pee to get some sleep. I got up once to go to the bathroom. I found no horses, but did enjoy a star-filled sky.

I didn't get my morning swim in, but had enjoyed a chilly jump in before the previous evening's bonfire. It was refreshingly coooold! Post-jump the mosquitoes feasted on my flesh. Their hunger meant we didn't last long at the bonfire. Instead we chose to play Clue in our tee-pee. C broke M's winning streak, though I was nipping at her heels.

We were at the West Yellowstone visitor's center by 8. I was first through the door and got some camping advice. Our initial destination was full, but we found a place to stay at Indian Creek. M headed home. We got the tent set up and headed out to take in a few more sites. Mammonth Hot Springs was curious. Wraith FAlls was disappointing, although we did kick off our shoes for a while to cool our feet in the stream and drink our blackberry-flavored drinks. Tower Falls was pretty, the petrified tree didn't seem scary at all, and Yellowstone fatigue has set in. It's too big. There's too much. All this driving is no way to enjoy a park. Tomorrow we'll try to do better.

In fact, we purchased liquid gold bear spray so we can really get out and see some wildlife. I'm scared to have it, but the Big Horn Pass trail seems too obscure not to take it on. We did some see more elk and got some good photos of them grazing and playing in "town" at Mammoth Springs. Now it's dinner time, but our luck has run out and the rains have arrived. Hopefully it won't last.

August 17 and 18: GTNP to Yellowstone

Today we had the full Jenny Lake experience. We hiked clockwise around the lake, snapping photos and heading toward the Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point. We were never alone, especially as we neared the falls. Others were regularly being shuttled across the lake to join in the fun. The falls was pretty, but not very memorable. Inspiration Point had an all-encompassing view of Jenny Lake and gave the name Jackson Hole considerable context. We stayed at the point for lunch and then hiked the long section around continuing in our clockwise direction. With some help from hikers headed the other way, I saw an eagle's nest among the burnt trees.

We searched for a spot to swim, but couldn't find one. We returned to camp, changed into our swimsuits and set out clockwise again in search of a remembered rock. After another mile, we'd searched enough and settled on a swimming spot that seemed passable. After some coaxing everyone got in. The water was cold, fed by glaciers, but it felt refreshing too. Having swum, hiked, and camped Jenny Lake, we finished the day with bratwurst and less than stellar pie-iron peach cobbler. The biscuits didn't seem to work so well. Still, warm peaches aren't all bad. We closed out the day with Crazy 8's and Egyptian Rat Screw. M bested us in both.

8/18- We woke up early, but weren't able to break camp until 8:30. We left Grand Teton behind and made our way to Yellowstone. Our stops were frequent. We hiked to a natural bridge that lacked self-confidence, but with enthusiasm, I say, "It's like a miniature of the natural bridges in Utah." I've never been to the Utah bridges and my enthusiasm rings false.

The Upper Falls were impressive and Artist's Point was a palette of rock colors with a backdrop of river and falls. As we drove along, the river was often just off the road and it snaked and charmed its way into my heart. I kept hoping I'd see a bear catching a fish, but only managed a deer and some elk. (Speaking of elk, I heard a call as I wrote this entry. I only heard ambulance sirens as I typed it.)

We stopped to see Mud Volcano and other gaseous earth bubblers. M craved egg salad sandwiches, so our lunch by the river surely disappointed. We stopped to view some lounging bison and continued to pick and choose our gaseous bubbling spots. Around 3:30 we left Yellowstone to head to our accommodations in Montana.

We're in a camp called Yellowstone under tarp, no I mean Yellowstone Under Canvas. It's glamping- glamorous camping; but although kind of fun and curious, it also seems like a scam. We're in a tee-pee, 3 cots with sleeping bag and foam. The view from the tee-pee is big sky, gorgeous, but no food is allowed in the camp; they'd like us to go to their restaurant. I think we'll return to town instead.

We had dinner at the slippery otter. The girls got IDed, but the bartender "had seen me there before". Guess my doppleganger is enjoying some sweet scenery.

I have high hopes for the bonfire and a morning swim. This place looks like it might be fun in a big group. It will be fun in a small group. I'm just a cheapskate who prefers the floor. The shower was great, the big tents look fancy with queen beds and stoves. It's good to confirm now and again that I'm a tent guy.

August 15-16: Grand Teton National Park

We left from Fort Collins, hostel de parents, at 8:22 AM. We were a caravan of 2, C and I in Tobias and M in her Honda. The day was mostly driving in Wyoming. At times it was scenic. M took most of the lead and guided us to Grand Teton National Park (GTNP). We stayed in an expensive cabin with a shower. Maybe I prefer camping because I end up sleeping on the floor anyway.

We carpooled to an overlook, Willow Flats, and snapped photos of Mount Moran and debated whether it was the Grand Teton or not. We then headed over to the Jackson lodge and had dinner at the Blue Heron (bar? grill?) which had 40-foot windows and a view of Mount Moran. We all had local beer, I had a brown ale from Idaho, and scarfed down dinner. We crashed early and began our Ben Franklin ways.

8/16- Early to rise, 5 AM, we made our way around Colter Bay in the darkness. M wanted sunrise photos and somehow talked C into getting up early. No one else was out. I think we were a little early and a little frightened that we might stumble across a bear. The beware of bears signs are everywhere and sunrise alone seemed like prime time to startle one.

We started snapping photos at the hint of first light and didn't stop,  except to walk the trail to find a new spot, until the earth had spun well into morning. I got 3 good photos from the batch.

We checked out of the cabin and hustled over to the Jenny Lake campground with the news that it was not yet crazy. The most popular of the the park campgrounds, it is a tent-only, first-come first-serve area in the shadow of the Grand Teton (or perhaps a lesser known mountain which blocks the view of it). We circled the campground like vultures and settled on site 43. We can see the nipple through the trees. We claimed the site, but had to wait a couple hours for the current occupants to vacate. With a fear of site poachers provided by the campground host, we circled the nearby outlooks and began the early series of M jumping and yoga in front of mountain scenery. By about 11:30, we had our tents up on site and were headed to Jackson.

I had a vision of Jackson subs and the first lunch-appropriate restaurant we saw was a sub shop. Taking the vision seriously we scared down subs and made our plan. Our plan needed ice cream. Jackson was a smaller, fancier Gatlinburg. The Asian tourists were out in force. Although the town square had a small park framed by antler arches, the quirkiness was offset by luxury goods- fine art galleries, Svarski crysals, and Moo's ice cream. We could only luxuriate so much and each had a scoop from Moo's. We shopped a bit in other expensive, but less luxurious shops and then headed to the river with Teton Adventures Rafting Company.

We'd go 8 miles in our 14 person boat on the Snake River. M started off nervous, but quickly became a fan. There's something about rafting that makes me want to say yes. The guide Brenton asked for a paddle master- I volunteered. He asked if anyone wanted to ride the bull, up front with feet dangling- I volunteered. Later he asked if anyone wanted to run the boat- again, I volunteered. He used oars to guide the boat and I struggled to master the paddles and use them both, but I started to get it in the end. I missed my shot at some rapids. Next time. We bounced through some great rapids, including Big Kahuna after I'd returned to passenger duties.

We swam, we tried to ride a spinning raft. It was all kinds of fun. I was shivering a bit by the end, but happy. It had been a good day and the Snake River had been the highlight. We arrived back at our car later than expected and chose Merry Piglets, a Mexican restaurant, for sustenance rather than grocery shopping and dinner in the dark. It was tasty, especially the Spicy Jalapeno margarita. We crashed in the tents and woke up to the sound of the road, chipmunks, and that day's camp site vultures.

July 2014 in San Diego

A journal entry: 

It is Thursday and vacation is nearly over, but I'm going to try to recount a few highlights. We're at the beach in front of Hotel Del Coranado, but that's not where the adventure starts. We started a little rocky as both C and I failed to factor in rain, Friday traffic, and checking baggage into our airport trip plans. We arrived to a long line at 6 for our 6:45 flight. We sent my stressed parents on ahead and we checked everyone's bags. The gate agent gave us stand by tickets and sent our luggage to Las Vegas. Flight delays meant that we made our original flight, but without our bags. They'd arrive at about 1:30 AM. Fortunately, the house near the sea was also near the airport.

The first day was a family beach day as second cousins, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, wives, husbands, etc. stayed quite a while at Mission Beach testing our sunscreen and letting the girls get adjusted to the ocean. They got a little braver every day. We got to see J and S for the second year in a row. They treated us to lunch at a beachside restaurant. It was great to see them.

Sunday we the beach again. This was La Jolla Beach and we brought out the boogie boards. Inside the house, the ants had attacked, but were mostly held at by spray, chalk, and complaints.

Monday most of the crowd hit sea World. C and I went to the Gaslamp Quarter. It's a night spots and we arrived well into the morning. I was very disappointed in the gas lamps and only mildly interested in our guidebook's walking tours. The most interesting aspect was that the area once well known for brothels now houses a Hooters, a Coyote Ugly, and several other mudflap-worthy establishments.

C and I napped the afternoon away and then she made lasagna for dinner. We are the pasta people. We got to meet all the Sea World souvenirs that night. All the second cousins seem to get on well and it's fun to be together.

Tuesday was Legoland. The others did well for back to back amusements. M dug the roller coaster. P is not so sure. My favorite part of Legoland was MiniLand. I spent a long time searching DC legos for familiar sites. The NYC subway was also pretty great. We closed the park down to Beck's delight. We then hit up In and Out Burger for a late supper. Kevin gave me tips on the secret menu so I had animal fries with my double-double and a shake. They were good, but I felt my arteries closing. P talked all the way home, but everyone else was asleep or practically there.

Wednesday was a quiet day at Ocean Beach, the closest beach to our house. The boogie boarding was really good, but the seaweed was thick. The F's came down from Newport Beach and took us out to the Venetian for dinner. We filled a banquet room and had a good family Italian meal with even better company. There was something special about catching up with distant family. I don't think T hears as well as he once did, but he remains quite jovial. I've always thought N was great and thoroughly enjoyed talking to her when J wasn't spinning his tales. Their son J seemed intimidated by the big crowd. I really enjoyed talking to JF. I can't explain what was so pleasing about the evening, but I didn't want it to end. Maybe that's why we played games until way too late that evening after the others left.

Everyone seemed tired on Thursday, but we returned to the beach and soldiered on. Vacation ended too quickly, but we had a great mini-FOG reunion.

The NBA

I've had a resurgence of interest in the NBA this summer. I watched more playoff games than I've ever watched as I cheered on the Wizards and then the Spurs. The daily checking of ESPN carried me through May and June and the habit stuck. I've been watching and waiting to hear what LeBron James was going to do.

Today he came out with "The Letter" announcing his return to Cleveland (http://www.si.com/nba/2014/07/11/lebron-james-cleveland-cavaliers)

I don't root for LeBron. I saw him play once at the MCI center in DC. He was powerful and fluid and at times it looked like he was playing a level above the Wizards. Yet, I prefer the underdog and I don't really like to root for "the best player." It took me a long time to appreciate Michael Jordan. I had Magic Johnson posters in my bedroom and it took a long time to let that go.

"The Decision" in 2010 made it easier to dislike LeBron. His televised hubris was more than I could stomach, but I'm not a Cleveland fan and so my wound wasn't particularly deep. I rooted hard against LeBron last year and this year, but my interest didn't come from a place of anger.

I'm impressed by "The Letter". LeBron seems to want to do more than win. He wants to pick up a region in the process. He knows this time that it won't be easy. He lays that all out eloquently. I can't help but cheer a little bit for a hometown hero returning home and trying to lift Ohio up. It sounds like a movie. The only mis-step I see is that hubris once again. He told Cleveland and Miami at the same time that he told the general public (EDIT: Apparently that's not true. Guess he learned several things.). Perhaps I don't understand free agency and I don't understand what it's like to be considered "the best", but it strikes me again that he is putting himself ahead of the organization that gave him his "college education" and the organization that he's returning to. 

I can root for Cleveland and Ohio as places, but I'm not going to root for LeBron or the Cavs for long. By the time LeBron takes home his first million, I'll be rooting for the Wizards, the Spurs, and most of the rest of the NBA to take him down. 

I can root against him and admire what he's trying to do.

Urban country

I'm working on a country song about public transportation, but I'm stalling out.

Here's what I have come up with so far:

Well the gold rush passed me by
but the gold line will be found

My horse is a light rail
and my pasture is downtown

Saddle up, boys
There's enough country to go around

My twang'll never leave  me
the next train comes at 10

Packed tighter'n sardines
good thing I left my spurs

Saddle up, boys
There's enough country to go around

Goodbye, half my face

I stood staring into the mirror. The scissors open and poised to cut, engulfing a good 4 inches of beard. I looked at my reflection and wondered.

It's been 11 months since I've really trimmed my beard. There's been some maintenance along the way, but mostly I've just let it grow and grow and grow. I get compliments in the street. My mother complains every time she sees me.

I wasn't able to form coherent thoughts as I stared. The decision had already been made. The scissors were in hand. I cut. The first snip didn't quite close. I paused as 75% of my beard hung in the balance. Now the thoughts came to me, could I somehow reattach this beauty? The decision was made and my moment of remorse was just a moment. I finished the cut and got out the clippers. 

No longer does my beard get stuck when I pull on my t-shirts. I don't have to move it out of the way to sleep on my stomach. Far less food will get stuck and I will better weather the temperatures in the 90s. As I looked at all that hair in the trash, I couldn't help but reach in and touch it one more time. That's the longest my beard has ever been. 

In the first 24 hours, I've had phantom beard moments where I thought it was there brushing up against my chest. I've looked in the mirror and seen a thin face staring back at me. I'm sure I'll get used to that guy. He's not bad looking, but I'm not sure he'll get compliments in the street. 

Slot car racing

I met a man who regularly plays foosball alongside his girlfriend. This made me smile. He described the local scene, where to play on a given night, and alluded to a surprising depth of strategy and organization. I smiled because he was smiling and because I have a soft spot for the niche scenes. I was having this conversation just off a roller derby track after all.

Foosball is a bar game, a fancy office game, a basement game, I'd never considered it a scene.

Of course it's a scene. Almost everything I've ever enjoyed is a scene and so are lots of things I've never enjoyed.

I happen to be looking for a scene right now. I'm still too hobbled to play disc golf let alone Ultimate.

I need a scene.

My dad used to race slot cars. I've thumbed through his neighborhood rules and he's always shared his track and cars.  Many times during childhood we commandeered the ping pong table to set up a wonderful track that he'd played with as a kid. A few times we've even found shops where they race cars by the hour. One of those shops happens to be an hour from here.

I've been meaning to get there, but the distance, the limited hours the shop is open, and life has been in the way. About two weeks ago, I ducked all those excuses and showed up to check things out. Other than the owner, I was the only one in the shop. He set me up with a car and let me go to racing. I zipped around the track, absorbed his helpful tips and smiled as my lap times sank. I crashed a lot, but eventually got down to just over six seconds. I felt like a kid and I wanted to share that feeling with someone.

The best way I could think to share that feelings was to get my family into the shop. I used some birthday leverage and brought the crowd by. It worked out wonderfully. We raced and crashed and crashed and raced, laughing all the way. My dad was delighted and everyone seemed pleased.

Is this my scene?

There are still several steps to make it so. I'm going to have to get my own car or cars. I'm going to have to find a way to the track on a regular basis. I'm going to have to meet new people, admit I don't know what I'm doing, and do it.

It all sounds exactly like something I need. I just have to find the slot and get racing.

Inside my mind

I just need to write. I need to stop making excuses and write. My best excuse is that I have nothing to say, but something can pour out. I just need to knock this jug over.

Yesterday I started wondering what would happen if I had Internet amnesia. I'd wake up tomorrow and all my browser history and bookmark bars would be empty. I wouldn't remember Google or Facebook or even that the Internet existed. The Internet wouldn't be gone, I  just wouldn't remember it.

I'd come down the stairs and see my computer on the desk. I'd walk by and into the kitchen where I'd pour myself a bowl of cereal. I'd sit at the table instead of the desk and read one of C's magazines. I'd finish breakfast and then what? I wouldn't know what to do. I could work on the house or read a book or keep trying to get rust off my grandma's bike. I'd have the sense that I needed to go to work, but I wouldn't known how to get there. I'd ask C. She'd tell me how to get work.

"How do I get to work?" I'd ask. 

She'd guffaw while I stood there looking as innocent as a large-bearded man can. 

Her head would tilt and her eyebrow would scrunch up. She'd sigh and say, "Go to your desk."

I'd go to my desk, move the jar of peanut butter to one side, thumb through a pile of post-it notes and then touch my mouse to turn on the computer. I'd see the items on my desktop and the ribbon of applications running along the bottom of my screen, but I'd have the sense that I was missing something. 

I'd open a few word files on the desktop, but those would look finished, so I'd ask C again. 

"Now what?" I'd shout.

She wouldn't hear me. 

I'd wait. I'd open a few items on the ribbon while I waited. The simon says-looking ball might be a good place to start. I'd click and a Chrome window would open in front of me. 

There in bright colors "Google" would greet me with an empty box. What's a google? It sounds like a lot. The box would beckon. It begs to be filled in, typed in, completed somehow. 

"Hello" I'd type, hoping that Hal from 2001 a space odyssey was not going to answer.

 A menu of Hello's would pop up in response. A menu of 337 million if the little gray type is to be believed. None were a response, instead I got Hello! online magazine, hello wikipedia- the free encyclopedia, and a small Lionel Richie Hello on something called YouTube. Intrigued and overwhelmed I'd choose the familiar Lionel Richie.

I'd enjoy a moment of sweet nostalgia played on the keyboard and that familiar syrupy voice, but then Lionel would ask if it was him I was looking for. Hello! Is it me you're looking for?  

It wasn't. Now what?

It is a race?

I made a button that said, "It is a race."

Lately, it seems I'm losing that race. I've had moments like this before. There are foot races where I am so overmatched that it isn't even worth the energy to focus on the leaders. I just let them go and focus on my own abilities. Others aren't a factor in my race anymore. I need more of this right now in the metaphorical race.

There have been other races where I've been hanging around only to slowly fall off the pace. I watch as my opponent pulls ahead even though I'd swear that my stride hasn't changed. I can grit my teeth, squint my eyes, and try to will myself back on the pace, but often that only serves me for a few steps before I falter. I've found this happening to me as I walk lately. It happened a lot on stairs this past weekend. I'd be plugging along and my group would motor on ahead. It happened subtly, I was hardly aware until they were yards ahead.

I'm happy to be walking and walking almost normally, but this inability to keep pace is staggering. Before I had pain as an explanation, but the pain is mostly gone. Now I only have slow. My gears are stripped. I can only plod. So, I plod.

I don't know when I'll be able to run again, but I got out on the bike for the first time since March tonight. It was scary. Even small hills were massive since I had minimal pushing power. It was good to be out, but there was no darting across streets or whizzing down the trail. Self-propelled movement even at this reduced speed felt foreign. It may have been like riding a bike, but I felt heavy, tentative, and weak.

This race is not going to be won in a week or a month. The long road back continues.

Knee jerk poetry

'Round 'bout a month ago
I twisted my knee

Falling hard to the ground
I screamed "INJURY!"

I rested and iced,
elevated and compressed

R.I.C.E helped a little
but I remained depressed

The doctor said,
"You did a number on that knee"

It appears that number
was not one million and three

No, no, that number
requires surgery

I tore my ACL,
a stabilizing tendon

I lost my way
no more twistin' or bendin'

I'll go under the knife
and borrow some hamstring

Hopefully all will go well
and I can return before next spring

The case of the missing mojo (unfinished)

A gust of wind blew open the bedroom door of Spurlock Homes. Spurlock opened one eye slowly and wiped the gunk out of it with his sleeve. The sun was shining and fading Spurlock's classic Farrah Fawcett poster on the wall.

Spurlock closed his eye and pulled the covers over his head to block out the sun. At that moment, the piercing scream of Momma Homes rattled the house.

"SPURLOCK!"

Reluctantly, Spurlock got out of bed, put on his lucky pants and his Tuesday blue Dr. Who t-shirt and headed down the stairs.

"SPUR- oh, there you are, dear," said Momma Homes. "here's some oatmeal. Do you have any of those cute cases today?"

"Momma," answered Spurlock, "My cases aren't cute, but no, I don't have any." Exasperated he continued, "I haven't had any for a month."

Momma Homes turned away to cover her smile and asked, "What about those flyers? Didn't they work?"

"I think Captain John had his deputies take them down. I didn't get a single call."

The phone buzzed in Spurlock's pocket. With his left hand he checked his phone and with the right he grabbed a spoonful of oatmeal. Mumbling a farewell, Spurlock headed out the door.

It hadn't always been this way for Spurlock. Five years ago he'd had a booming business. He solved crimes and made cabinets on the side. He lived with his girlfriend Shirley, had a brand new bike, and a smile that even a dentist could love. Then one day a cabinet he'd sold to the mayor broke and fell on the mayor's wife .The publicity was not good. So much for that saying. All publicity is NOT good publicity. The cabinet orders dried up and the investigations sputtered to a halt.

Spurlock went into a downward spiral. He played pinball until he ran out of quarters during the day and cried at night. Shirley got upset that she couldn't do laundry and left him. Someone stole his bike and Spurlock couldn't muster the energy to solve the case. His depression continued. His mother took him in and hired a life coach.

Meet Martin Jones. Martin is a terrible life coach. He seems to dislike life from the top of his bald head down to his too-small feet. The only advice he gives is that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Martin never leaves after he says this. He just sits there and looks blankly at his clients. It's never clear whether he expects his clients to leave either. This usually results in a lot of awkward silences. After one hour, Martin always tells his clients to leave. He usually does this by saying, "Out." It doesn't matter if his clients are in the middle of a sentence. Spurlock was sobbing in one session, but when Martin's clock reached one hour, he just said, "Out."

Spurlock left. It took his whole walk home to stop sobbing.

The buzzing phone had been a text message. It said Missing Cat 510 East Ave.

Missing pets used to be Spurlock's specialty. He had a way with cats and he was excited to have a case. The start of a smile spread across his face. When Spurlock arrived at 510 East Avenue, his mind went blank.

Spurlock didn't know what to do.

Breakfast Builder

A song inspired by the Parks and Rec tv show line, "Looks like we have ourselves an old-fashioned pawn shop waffle iron bidding war."

I built a house for breakfast
Its walls were bacon strips
The roof was a waffle
I'd sell that place for tips

Cereal and milk
bagels and oj
I built a house for breakfast
I'll eat well today

Breakfast builder- hooray!
Breakfast builder- hooray!
WA-WA-WA-WA-WAFFLES

My eggs are over easy
The bacon's rather greasy
The floors are all toasted
The shower's mostly roasted

Breakfast builder- hooray!
Breakfast builder- hooray!
WA-WA-WA-WA-WAFFLES

Sung by Waffle Fright at MDPL. Recording pending. 

Sports, sports, sports!

It will come as no surprise that I'm back to write about my sports.

First, I had the opportunity to return to good old Team Schaefer in DC for this year's winter league tournament. Besides being pleased to see so many friendly faces, I was also pleased to finish a season after I cut short last year's with a move. Team Schaefer wouldn't be able to capture last year's winning ways, but I was thrilled to play alongside teammates of yore like Matt, Ryan, Ali, Scrap and Sam and to meet and battle with new teammates. We ended up 1-3 on the day. I snagged a few D's, won a few battles, and enjoyed scraping up my body with a variety of failed layouts. One of my favorite moments came on a line with Matt, Scrap, and Sam. Sam got the D, the disc moved quickly and Scrap put up a nice throw that I could track down in the end zone. My favorite personal play (other than perhaps winning a battle of the beards in the air) was a strange one. I dove for a disc as my opponent went to catch it. He was successful, but I got my whole hand on the disc. Rather than let go, I tugged on it to keep my balance and he ended up swinging me around into position to put on a mark. I don't think it was as intentional on my part as it sounds, but it worked out well and I was happy I hadn't let go until my balance was regained.

I miss those games on the mall, the polo fields, and glug, glug, glugging with Team Schaefer.

I returned to games under the lights for winter league playoffs mile high style, still battered a bit from the weekend. In a wild scheduling twist, what had once been a game I was to miss became one I could make although without the rest I would have liked. I arrived and dragged myself through a warm-up. I declined to start, hoping instead that I could be ready off the bench. Unfortunately, the team seemed to be in the same mode. We played very little defense in the first half and fell behind. We switched to a zone and I had some good success in the cup, but then our offense faltered, particularly in the red zone. The game was over and so was our season. It was not the way I thought we'd go out.

To continue the trend of underperforming, I ran a 3 mile race yesterday. I can tell you about the skiing the day before or the fact that it was once again about 10 degrees with snow and ice on the ground, but I think the real story is that I'm out of shape. Running once a week and playing Ultimate once a week and then doing a little (stress on little) are not keeping me in good shape. This series of races I'm in is handicapped, so based on the performance at the 10k, I had a rather favorable start time. I knew I could run away from my group and that I had lots of people to pass, but I could tell that the miles were not flying by. I battled throughout, and in the last 400 meters had passed all, but one young man, probably 12 or 13. I pulled up behind him with about 200 meters to go and to his credit he kicked it in. I was kicking too and I had two thoughts, 1. It seems kind of mean to beat a kid, 2. Maybe he's not going to break.

I put aside the first and pushed on. Fairly quickly, the kid's kick wore out and I cruised into the finish line in what turned out to be (readers of this blog from way back when will know) second place overall. I actually finished 14th by time, a survival of a 20:14, 6:45 per mile pace. I don't really understand what this does to my season points or the trophy series, but I've got a 4 miler in April where I can start to figure that out. These slow times may actually help me in this series if I can find a way to build up my base and start running like I mean it again.

Until we sports again...

In search of discomfort

One of my resolutions for this fine year is to seek out discomfort once a week.

Week 1: 10k in 10 degrees
Week 2: Volunteering at MD Promotion of letters
Week 3: Invited friends for dinner (Bonus: Attended an open house)
Week 4: Sang and played banjo at MDPL
Week 5: Volunteering at MDPL without C
Week 6: TBD

In an uncomfortable twist, it is already getting more difficult to accomplish my goal as the year continues. I actually think week 2 directly affected the bonus for week 3.

Previously an open house would have intimidated me. Knowing that I wasn't planning to buy and that I would have to explain that to someone interested in selling would have kept me away, but considering that I'd already done several uncomfortable items recently, I just walked in and looked around. When asked, I calmly explained that I lived near by and I was curious. I even told the realtor that I thought the price was too high. (I think it's dropped since I visited.)

Little victories build momentum. Momentum makes discomfort seem more comfortable. By the end of the year I may have to do big things.

MDPL has already made several appearances on the list. This is a volunteer opportunity that I'm really enjoying. More on that later.

Brrr. I haven't lost a step. I've misplaced a staircase.

The singing of the radio alarm was not what I wanted to hear. I could skip the race, sleep in, and run on my own later. C gave me a little push, she could tell I was resisting my plans. Anger roiled inside of me, I just wanted to sleep.

I got up a few minutes later, still angry, but pushed by my plan. It was snowing lightly when I walked outside. I got to the race at Twin Lakes early and stood around awkwardly. I felt underdressed. I thought the owners of yak-traks attached to their shoes looked wise. Then I found out that a 5k wouldn't count for the race series. I would be running a 10k. 

My 2.5 mile race on Christmas Eve had been slow and tiring. I haven't run 6 miles in quite some time. I added a few minutes to my estimated time so I could be handicapped and I was given a time to start of 9:37. Nearly 30 minutes after "race time" in this staggered start event. 

I spent much of my time in the car trying to stay warm in the snowy 10 degree morning. When I emerged for a warm-up, I realized that there was nothing warm about me. I added a layer of coat and gloves and unloaded a few more nerves in the facilities. 

I was one of the last four to start the race. I left alone and shot off into the snow. I quickly caught up to the person who started in front of me, his red jacket a clear early goal. I realized I was probably moving too fast for this long of a race and tucked in behind him. We were soon passed by the two behind us. As we approached mile 2, I began to unravel. 

I lost touch with red jacket and began the long process of holding on. I was alone at the turn-around, running in last place. Without a watch, I can only guess that I'd run about 20 minutes for the 5k. The pain of continuing kept mounting, but after the out on an out and back course, there was only back now. 

I set my sights on the man in front of me. I didn't recognize him. In this race, there was no telling where he'd started. I made up some ground, but my steps were labored and my beard frozen.

I passed a few walkers and worked my way closer to the man in front of me. The world was cold and white and that man and the pain in my side felt like my only company. I worked closer, but not quickly. This felt like a tortoise and the hare situation. Slowly and steadily, I passed the man at about mile 5. 

He congratulated me and urged me onward. I struggled ahead and focused on the next person. Three times I thought we were nearing the final curve and twice I was sorely disappointed. I passed one more woman with a quarter mile to go. 

I stared at the white snow beneath me and begged me feet to carry me to the finish. They did. Reluctantly.

I finished cold and tired in a running time of about 47:42.  It was my slowest timed 10k in ages, perhaps ever.

It was the highlight of my day.