Annals of Ragnar

Return to the Imnaha

2011-10-05T18:38:00.000-07:00

The recent movie Contagion tells the story of a virus that rapidly spreads around the globe, causing death, widespread panic, and a lot of resulting bad behavior. The movie had a happy ending, of sorts, as a CDC scientist develops a vaccine that halts the spread of the virus. Bad as the scenario depicted in the movie might be, the contagions that afflicted the native inhabitants of the Americas were vastly worse. The book 1491 describes the near annihilation of tribes throughout the continent because they had no immunity to the Europeans' diseases. I can barely imagine the horror and suffering those people endured. And yet, they are voiceless; to my knowledge no Native American record describes the misery visited upon them by the Europeans' diseases.

The the extent the voice of the American Indians is preserved at all, it is found largely in the oral histories of their eventual, inevitable defeat in the wars with the US Army following the Civil War that continued almost to the turn of the 20th Century. I have read the sad stories of the Navahos, the Apaches, the Comanches, the Sioux and other tribes of the Great Plains, and more recently, the story of Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce as told in Kent Nerburn's "Chief Joseph and the Flight of the Nez Perce."

Based largely on the oral histories of the Nez Perce, Nerburn's book tells the heroic and tragic flight of the Nez Perce from their ancestral home in near Wallowa Lake to their eventual capture by the U.S. Army in Northeastern Montana, only 30 miles from the Canadian border. There Joseph is reputed to have said, "I will fight no more forever." Remarkably, his undernourished and lightly armed tribe including women, children and elderly outwitted the US Army for three months in a chase that covered much of Idaho and Montana. The Army succeeded only because the Nez Perce were cold and starving and some of their chiefs believed that they finally were safe and could rest before making the final push into Canada. Unfortunately, the relentless Colonel Miles captured them before they had time to gather enough strength to cross the border.

From the book I learned that the Nez Perce' winter camp was on the lower Imnaha River, 30 miles distant and 2000 feet lower in elevation than their summer home on Wallowa Lake. The lower Imnaha was precisely with the location of my first Boy Scout camp 50 years ago. Reading of the Nez Perce kindled in me the desire to return and see what, if anything, has changed in the remote place where my friends and I camped so long ago. My old friend Art Richards and I have talked of taking a man trip for years. Art readily agreed to my suggestion that we return to the Imnaha, and last Thursday, after weeks of anticipation, we finally departed.

Our original Boy Scout trip to the Imnaha was organized by two Johns - Hopfield and Sundwall. Hopfield was Scoutmaster of our troop in Portland; Sundwall, a friend of Hopfield, was Scoutmaster of a troop in Vancouver, Washington. I somehow was appointed quartermaster for the trip. Together Hopfield and I planned our meals and purchased our food -- a dehydrated product called Kisky's. Sundwall, a contractor, owned a large moving van, in which we 20 or so Scouts, together with our food and gear, traveled the roughly 380 miles from Portland to the Imnaha. I had traveled much of the route with my parents on our annual summer trips to Utah to visit my grandparents, but no Utah trip seemed so endless as that ride in the back of the van, where we passed at least part of the time repeatedly singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall."

We traveled the final 50 miles on an unpaved road. The rear door of the van must have been open because I have a distinct memory rugged hills and of herds of deer, so many that the brown hills almost seemed to move. As we drew near our destination, John Sundwall stopped the van, pulled out a rifle, and downed a deer with one shot. That deer became our first meal after we set up camp.

We camped at a bend in the river near the remains of a washed out bridge that hovers over a deep hole in the river. There the canyon widens and flattens out, creating an ideal camp site. We all slept on cots under plastic tarps suspended from a frame of wooden poles lashed together. The cooking area was a short distance from where we slept, folding tables surrounding a stove consisting of a metal plate welded to four stout legs.

The two Johns imposed strict rules, the most fundamental of which was that we were never to go anywhere without a buddy. To assure compliance, they built and posted a sign on a tree near our cooking area listing our names in descending order to the left, and, in a heading above our names, a list of various locations near the camp. To the right of each name was a series of pegs corresponding to the various locations. At all times we were required to place a washer on the peg showing our location. If we failed to comply, we were sentenced in the Johns' nightly kangaroo court to "run the line."

The line consisted of two rows of Scouts armed with switches, which we cut from willow bushes that grew near the river. Each offender had to run barelegged through the line as his fellow Scouts swatted the back of his legs. A Scout could be punished not only for failure to properly mark his location or be with a buddy, but also for such offenses as failure to take a full swing at a Scout running the line or throwing a dead rattlesnake at one of the Johns. It was not uncommon for a Scout to emerge from the line with his legs bleeding and covered with welts. While no one wanted to run the line, the line was in fact a source of high amusement for the both the Johns and we Scouts.

I imagine that a similar trip today could result in prison time for the two Johns. If not the poaching, the child abuse and lack of seat belts in the van would have done them in.

We spent most of our time either fishing or hanging out naked at the swimming hole near our camp. In the ten days we spent on the river, we did not see another person. We all were sunburned in places that never before or since have seen the sun. We hiked one day the 5 miles to the Snake where instead of the usual bass we caught a few catfish in the shadows of the high walls of Hells Canyon. On our hike back several of the Scouts straggled far behind under the watchful eye of a young adult leader who assisted the Johns. Hopfield led the hike while Sundwall stayed behind at camp. While we were away he went deer hunting. We returned to a delicious dinner of fresh venison, corn on the cob and watermelon. Never had food tasted better.

After the first two or three days, the thrill of our adventure had worn off. We frequently talked of home and counted the days till camp ended. Art and I craved Cheerios and bananas, which was in fact my first meal when I returned home.

Aside from the Hells Canyon hike, the single most memorable event on the trip was the night an unfortunate rattlesnake slithered near our camp. The first Scout who saw the snake ran into camp yelling "rattlesnake!!" The rest of us arose as one and ran toward the snake. One of the older Scouts poked at the snake with a stick, causing it to strike. With the snake fully extended, another Scout grabbed the snake by the neck and quickly sliced its head off. We then triumphantly skinned the snake and ate it, each Scout receiving a small morsel.

We were, it seems, a bloodthirsty band, having no more remorse about the dead snake than we did about the fish we caught, the deer Sundwall shot, or the welts and bruises we inflicted on each other.

But we did not lack some kindness for each other. We stuck together in our misery, and, when the Exlax the Johns made us take to keep us regular struck, we accompanied each other to the latrine, even when the need arose in the middle of the night.

After so many years, I longed to see how much had changed and how much my memory of the camp corresponded to reality. Also, having recently read about the Nez Perce, the Imnaha now was of historical interest. I hoped to learn more about where and how the Nez Perce lived and how they evaded the U.S. Army for so long.

Art and I departed on our journey from the Portland airport late Thursday afternoon. We drove immediately to Tad's restaurant on the Sandy River, near the west end of the Columbia River Gorge. There we met my brother Ron, from whom Art managed to coax stories I had never heard, and ate Tad's signature dish, chicken and dumplings. We topped off the main course with marionberry cobbler. After dinner we continued on to Pendleton. There we got rooms at the Travel Lodge, where I would swear I stayed nearly 40 years ago. When I advised the desk clerk of that fact, he informed me that I was wrong. He insisted that the Travel Lodge had formerly been known as the Longhorn, and had only recently changed its name, long after my visit. Oh well, this would not be the last mistake I would make on our trip.

In the morning we visited the Pendleton outlet, where, as Tauni noted, I demonstrated my shopping compulsion by purchasing three wool blankets. I thought they would be great for the cabin or gifts. Her reaction after I presented the blankets upon my return, "Sure, just what we don't need. Wool blankets. Good luck finding someone who would like to receive one as a present."

We next stopped in the town of LeGrande, gateway to Wallowa County. There Art purchased a few of his favorite pocket t-shirts at JC Penney. Meanwhile, I stopped at a neighboring bike shop to inquire where I could find a fly fishing shop. A very helpful and fit looking sales guy asked where I was headed.

Me: "The IM-na-ha River."

Him: "You're not from around here, are you?"

Me: "No. How can you tell?"

Him: "It's the Im-NA-ha River."

Me: "Oh."

So Art and I have been mispronouncing Imnaha for 50 years. Reminded me of what yokels we thought Easterners were when they spoke of the state of Or-e-GONE, rather than OR-e-gun.

Despite the sales guy's efforts to direct me with a map, we couldn't find the LeGrande fly shop. We proceeded to Joseph where we had no trouble locating the Joseph Fly Shop. We chatted awhile with the owner, Rob Lamb, who like the bike shop sales guy got out a map and painstakingly described every fishing hole and landholder on the Imnaha. I purchased a few flies and a net, and further indulged my shopping compulsion by purchasing a Sage sweater and a Joseph Fly Shop ball cap. Lamb was an interesting guy. He explained that he made and lost a lot of money buying and selling land on the Columbia River. Eventually he accumulated enough to purchase 4000 acres near Joseph, where 20 years ago he opened his fly shop. About 10 years ago Lamb led an effort to spruce up Joseph's main street, which now is lined with boutiques and galleries. That didn't endear him to the locals at the time, but I am sure that the cash left behind by the resulting tourists has helped ease their pain.

The entire town of Imnaha

My plan had been to check into the Imnaha River Inn, the B&B where we stayed, have a relaxing evening, drive the next morning downriver to the location of our Scout camp, and then take the 5-mile hike to the Snake River and Hells Canyon. It was not to be. After a brief stop in the town of Inmaha, we drove quickly past the Inn and headed down the canyon to the location of our old Scout camp. Rob Lamb had warned us that the first part of the road was high above the river. He wasn't kidding. The road was not only high but seriously exposed, enough to awake my dormant fear of heights.

High above the River

Along the road we saw a couple of deer, a flock of wild turkeys, and a herd of mountain sheep.

Sheep

After a harrowing 13 mile ride that seemed to last a couple of hours we came to a bridge and there, before our eyes, was the swimming hole and camp site where we spent ten days 50 years ago. We quickly located the the sleeping and cooking areas, the willows, the site where the unfortunate rattlesnake met its demise, the trail to Hells Canyon, and the rocks where we sunned ourselves above the swimming hole. While much was as we remembered, it was jarring to see two canvas tents near the bridge, a truck, tent, 4-wheeler and gear in our old sleeping area, a rather large piece of machinery that looked like a crane, and a large porous cone shaped device in the river that apparently was connected to the crane. Fifty years later, our remote, pristine spot had been discovered. We later were told by our innkeeper that the tents belonged to the Indians (the Nez Perce?) and that they use cone shaped device to count fish. I question that, but there is no doubt of a semi-permanent human presence. A small sign on the bridge announced the Historic Nez Perce Trail. The Nez Perce crossed at or near the bridge and then hiked an ancient trail over a hill westward to the Snake on their flight from the pursuing Army.

After we determined the lay of the land it was time to fish. My good friend Scott Loveless insisted that I could not visit a river like the Imnaha without fly fishing. He outfitted me with a rod and reel, fishing vest, line clipper and hook extractor. I assembled the rod, tied on a fly and began to cast at a quiet hole near the shore. To my surprise, a few small fish immediately surfaced and nibbled at my fly. I continued to cast and the minnows continued to nibble. After an hour or so, it was evident that the fish were in no danger from me, and Art had long since become bored, so we packed our fishing gear and at last embarked back up the canyon for relaxation and dinner at the Inn.

Heading for the Inn

Not only did the return drive seem shorter, but the terror factor disappeared. It helps to be on the mountain rather than the cliff side of the road. We arrived at the Inn just before the appointed dinner hour.

The Imnaha River Inn

The owners, Nick and Sandy, welcomed us to the Inn. After they showed us our rooms, I joined Nick on the deck behind the Inn, where he barbequed pork chops on the grill. After years as a homebuilder in the Portland area, he spent two years building the Inn. He and Sandy opened it to guests to raise the funds needed to realize their dream of living in paradise. Thanks to the crash of the real estate market, Nick's plans to build homes in Wallowa County came to naught. He has nonetheless managed to find work where he can and, even with a dwindling number of visitors, he and Sandy have survived. Rob Lamb warned us against discussing politics in Imnaha. Nick was good natured enough as he described his plight, but the combination of high unemployment and government policy discouraging anything but green jobs in Wallowa County have resulted in very strong feelings.

At dinner we discussed, among other things, fishing, hunting and family. Steelhead currently are running and Chinook salmon spawn in the river early in the summer. Nick told of 40+ pound salmon being pulled from the river near the Inn. He complained of a dwindling deer population due to reintroduction of wolves in the area. Dwindling or not, we saw a lot of deer in two days, though not near as many as I remember 50 years ago. I asked Nick for a recommendation for a mountain bike ride. He advised that with hunting season opening the next day I should avoid most roads. He pulled out a map and showed me a the location of nearby Trail Creek Road, which was closed to hunting because it traversed land owned by the Nature Conservancy, and recommended I give it a try.

After dinner Art lectured me on the virtues of Richie Havens and open D guitar tuning. He then demonstrated. Notwithstanding Art's explanation of chord structures, I failed in my attempt to figure out how to play "I Will," and so went to bed.

After a hearty breakfast of French toast, bacon, fruit and juice, we set out for a mountain bike ride on Trail Creek Road. After a bit of haggling, we agreed that Art would meet me at the top of the road at a place Nick described as the Zumwalt Plateau. This was not smart, because I had no idea of the distance or elevation gain. Nor did I allow for the possibility of mechanical failure. It took me about 30 seconds to fall while trying to change gears. In so doing, I managed to bend the rear derailleur hanger. Consequently, the chain wouldn't stay in gear in the rear sprocket. Loose dirt and rocks on the road surface made for poor traction, and a flat front tire added another degree of difficulty. The benign flat road at the beginning of the ride soon became far more challenging, rising to what I would estimate was a 4-6% grade. All of which meant that after riding for a very short distance I gave up and started to walk.

Trail Creek Road

I started riding at 9:30. By 1030 I thought that boredom would have caused Art to come looking for me. By 1130 I wondered if Art had found the road to Joseph and driven into town. I debated whether to ride the bike back down the mountain, but concluded that if I did I might never find Art. As I walked I imagined the each successive curve in the road would lead me out of the canyon and onto the high plateau where Art would be waiting. But as the road climbed I entered ever denser forest and found no end to the steep canyon walls that framed the road. I finally shouted Art's name into the silent forest, not expecting him to hear me but hoping for a telepathic connection. At last, around 12:30, I saw Art's SUV in the distance. I was both relieved and happy to see him.

I told Art it was my bad for not communicating a better plan for keeping in touch during my ride. I added that I was flattered he thought I could ride so far on that steep, slippery road. He replied, "I was glad it was you out there and not me. It was bad enough driving." He added that it had never occurred to him that equipment failure could be a problem. That hadn't really crossed my mind either, and I should have known better. Turned out Art had lost track of time while photographing an abandoned two-holer outhouse he spotted at the top of a hill.

The Two-Holer

We drove to Wallowa Lake, and then spent the balance of the afternoon more or less where I began, thinking about the Nez Perce. At the north end of Wallowa Lake, there is a memorial of sorts covering several acres of ground that is sacred to the Nez Perce. A trail meanders through meadows to a pond.

Sacred Indian Pond

From the pond the trail proceeds to a small graveyard at the top of a hill overlooking the lake. There Chief Joseph is buried.

Joseph's Grave

In town there is a small gallery of historic photos dedicated to the Nez Perce. A fundraising effort is underway to purchase and restore land to the tribe. The Nez Perce have owned no land near Wallowa Lake since they were driven out in 1877. If nothing else, it is easy to understand the fierce attachment of both the Indians and white settlers to the rugged and beautiful Wallowa country and how their competing cultures could never peacefully coexist.

As for Art and me, the next morning we drove a few miles back down the canyon to get one final look at the Imnaha. I would love to return to hike and fish, and show this magical place to my children and grandchildren.

Art

I returned a place that has a powerful hold on my memory. However lovely it is, it is of interest mainly because I experienced it then and now with one of the truest friends of my life. The Wallowa is sacred to the Nez Perce because it was home to a people. The Imnaha is sacred to me because it is a place of friendship.

Unfinished business

2011-09-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

Nearly 20 years ago, I did one of the best training runs of my life with my then law partners Bob Henderson and Brent Stephens, and Brent's wife, Leslie. We ran from the Stephens' house in Midvale to Sugarhouse Park and back, a distance of 20 miles. We did the run in about 2 hours and 40 minutes - 8 minute mile pace. We made one stop at a convenience store after we had run about 8 miles. I was starving for calories, and so I bought and quickly devoured Ding Dongs, to Brent's horror. To my considerable amusement, Brent talked for miles about how disgusted he was with my food choice. Brent's opinion notwithstanding, the Ding Dongs energized me. It was one of those rare runs where I felt as though I could go forever, and in my memory, at least, I was sad when we finally reached Brent's house.

I did many more runs with Brent, somewhat fewer with Bob, but that was my only run with Leslie. Brent was not an easy person to get to know. He was difficult to approach, and seemed to hide wells of pain of which he gave only hints. Over the years, he seemed to become increasingly angry at the world, and became a trial for his law partners. But we shared a lot with each other on our runs. We occupied neighboring offices and talked briefly almost daily. Brent was a voracious reader, though at the time I doubt that much of our reading overlapped. Whatever his demons, he had a good heart, a great sense of humor, and I deeply valued his friendship.

Eventually, after I took on two large antitrust cases, I sought Brent's help. He had the ability to write extraordinarily well, and his take on legal problems was unique. For a long time I thought Brent was one of the many lawyers who litigate to the brink of trial and then settle for fear of the court room. As we worked more together I learned that Brent actually seemed to savor conflict, perhaps because it provided an outlet for his anger, or, more likely, because he simply enjoyed the sport of outwitting his opposition.

As years passed, Brent gained weight, and started coming to work late in the morning smelling of alcohol. HIs drinking became serious enough that the firm undertook an intervention. He spent a week in detox and then returned to work. To my surprise, he joined AA, rapidly lost weight, and became steadfast in his avoidance of alcohol. It was after he joined AA that we discussed his belief in God. He was a lapsed Mormon, but he accepted that there was a higher power and rigorously followed AA's 12 step program, including from my vantage a willing surrender to that higher power.

I wasn't near as close to Bob, who was known both in the legal and ultra running worlds as "Mad Dog," but I mostly enjoyed his company, pacing him at least one year during one of his many Wasatch 100 endurance runs. Bob became a legend in the Utah ultra community for his consistency, longevity and intelligence in managing pace, nutrition and hydration during those demanding runs. Bob typically ran in a plain undershirt and torn Patagonia shorts. He would trail well behind the leaders at the initial checkpoint at 20 miles on Bountiful Peak, but his discipline and experience always served him well and it was rare that he did not close on the hares at the race wore on. One year he finished in excruciating pain, thinking himself a wimp because the pain bothered him so much. He was relieved to discover he had a serious muscle tear, vitiating his fear that he had become soft. The year I paced him we started in Lamb's Canyon and climbed to the summit of what he called Bareass Pass. During our climb it was dark and slippery. It had been hot during the day and many runners were struggling, unable to eat or drink, and thus being forced to drop out. Bob, as usual, seemed to get stronger as he went, shouting "I am so angry!" before asking, "What do we like?" He then answered his own question, "Coffee black, heuvos rancheros." The glories of heuvos thus imprinted on my brain, I learned to cook them at home, and for years rarely passed them up in a restaurant.

Leslie I never knew well, but later came to learn that she, like Brent, had a deep love of literature and was an extraordinary friend to a remarkable group of women.

About a year after Brent joined AA, he and Leslie went for a Sunday morning run. Near Hillcrest High School they ran on a sidewalk paralleling the road. As they reached a sharp left turn in the road, a driver loaded with a combination of alcohol and speed was unable to make the turn, drove over the curb to the sidewalk and plowed directly into Leslie, killing her instantly. The driver ran from his car. Brent chased him town. I somehow got the news quickly and joined Brent and a few other friends at a vigil at his house that afternoon.

Brent asked me to offer the benediction at Leslie's funeral, which I considered a great honor. Leslie's running friends were the speakers and it was from them I learned what a good and remarkable person she had been. A few days later Brent told me he went to AA on Monday, the day after Leslie's death. The group leader, not knowing what had happened, announced that the subject of the day was gratitude, and asked Brent to speak first. Brent told the group he was thankful for the AA organization. Without it, he said, he would have killed himself a year earlier, and if not then, would have done it the day Leslie died.

Brent remarried a woman half his age a couple years after Leslie died. She had a child who Brent adored. He adopted her, and then he and his wife had another daughter of their own. Sadly, however, his new wife also turned out to be an alcoholic. I recall Brent telling me she joined AA. By then I had left the firm and saw Brent rarely, but it was always a joy when I did. His birthday was May 5, Cinqo de Mayo, and I always tried to call that day. I heard of escalating conflicts with the firm that lead to the firm asking him to take a leave of absence, which became permanent. After his exit from the firm I called and asked what he was doing. "Trying to stay sober," he replied. Turned out he failed. As I came to understand, his drinking increased, and his wife eventually obtained a restraining order to keep him away from his children. Then, not long after a Thanksgiving holiday, I received word from one of my partners that he had been found dead in his kitchen. It was said he choked on a piece of turkey. I heard there was vodka on the kitchen table, though I don't know whether that is true. Whether he choked or not, I believe Brent was a victim of alcoholism.

After Brent died, Bob's troubled marriage came to an end. One thing lead to another, and in the turmoil of the divorce circumstances came to light that lead to Bob's ouster from the firm. Bob had always been one of the most productive, hardest working lawyers in the firm, but he was never happy. After he left, he dumped his insurance defense practice and became a mediator. To the surprise of many, he excelled, largely because for all his flaws he had a powerful understanding of human nature and the good judgment to know when to fold 'em and when to hold 'em. Though we never ran together again after I left the firm in January of 2000, I periodically saw him on the street. He was invariably happy to see me and seemingly happy with his life. Leaving the firm freed him from his anger at conduct of his partners that he could not abide. He was rumored to have engaged in affairs with one or more women. The last time I saw him he was with a woman whose company he appeared to be enjoying immensely.

Not long after I last saw him I heard he had been hospitalized with an incurable brain disease, some form, I just heard, of mad cow disease. At age 63, he was training for his 20th (or so) Wasatch 100. He continued to train till it was no longer possible and then was hospitalized with no hope of recovery. Many friends visited him and all reported his joy at their visits. To my shame, I did not. I was traveling a lot at the time, and the time I learned of his illness to his death was no more than a couple weeks. I was unable to attend his funeral, but heard it was a bawdy affair, fitting I suppose.

It has now been 2 or 3 years since the death of the last of my three friends with whom I enjoyed that great run to Sugarhouse Park. I think about that not infrequently and wonder why I am the survivor and not any of them. We were roughly the same age. They are gone and I am here, still healthy, the winner of the tontine.

After leaving Snow Christensen, the firm where I met Brent and Bob, I joined Linux Networx, a supercomputer manufacturer, eventually to become a short-lived CEO. During that precarious period, I inherited Scott Loveless of the firm now known as Parr Brown Gee & Loveless, as outside corporate counsel. Scott and I worked on financing deals together. Because my legal experience had been largely limited to litigation, Scott became an important mentor and teacher, my responsibilities seemingly touching on legal matters daily. After a year at Linux Networx, it appeared the company would either be acquired or be forced to declare bankruptcy. Scott recruited me to join his firm, which I had long considered the best in Utah. I gratefully accepted his invitation. At first, I simply occupied an office, but expected that eventually I would join the firm as a partner when Linux Networx ran out its string.

I had great experiences at Linux Networx. I learned of a whole new world and made wonderful friends, among them Bernard Daines, who sacrificed millions of dollars in an effort to make the company succeed and who gave me the opportunity to serve as CEO. Unfortunately, after Bernard and I met with over 100 VCs we were unable to make a deal. Bernard, in the meantime had replaced me with himself as CEO while allowing me to retain the title of president. Our management styles varied greatly; indeed they hardly could have been more different. Clashes between us were inevitable. In one of my dumber, though honest, moves I told Bernard that if he were smart he would fire me. I didn't want to give up the dream of building a good, if not great, company but I had come to the realization that the dream was unlikely to be realized at Linux Networx and that, even if it were, there wasn't a good place for me as long as Bernard was CEO. When I received word from a potential investor, our last best hope for a deal, that they had decided to pass I called Bernard with the news. He walked into my office the following morning - I believe it was a Thursday - and told me my last day would be the following Wednesday. No ceremony, no severance. I had, fortunately, decided I was done anyway, and obtained a partnership offer at Parr Brown, orchestrated by my friend Scott Loveless. So I walked out the door at Linux Networx on Wednesday and in the door at Parr Brown on Thursday. And, true to our friendship, Bernard followed me to Parr Brown as a client, easing my transition by providing me a lot of legal work.

I have had my ups and downs at Parr Brown. It is a very conservative firm, built on principles of democracy, egalitarianism, and hourly billings. Ironically, I was hired in no small part because of my fame as one of the co-lead counsel in the landmark antitrust case of Caldera v. Microsoft, in which my firm received a contingent fee of $21 million. I think Scott and others hoped I could recreate the magic at Parr Brown. My first forays into new cases proved to be colossal failures and after about 4 years I wondered how much more patience the firm would have. About that time, a good friend, Jim Parkinson, introduced me to a group of San Diego lawyers representing victims of the 2007 San Diego wildfires. After a couple reshuffles of the lawyer deck, I ended up partnered with two small San Diego County firms. Collectively we represent over 160 separate claims. Although I was always confident that the case would pay off, the firm's investment period corresponded with the worst economy since the great depression and many in the firm wanted to dump the case. A part of me hoped it would because I would then be justified in leaving and taking the case on myself. After much scrutiny the firm decided to keep the case and so I stayed. We have now settled less than half our cases, and the return has exceed everyone's expectations. So for the moment I am a hero of sorts. As usual, Scott has been there for me, persuading the firm last year to give me the biggest single year raise in its history (which followed a couple years of demotions). I am, therefore, hugely indebted to Scott for his taking me under his wing, first giving me the opportunity to be part of what had been for years my dream firm and later making sure that the firm treated me as fairly as its system would allow.

Beyond all that, Scott has been an enjoyable companion. We have not become as close perhaps as either of us would have liked, but I still have valued our frequent morning or afternoon chats about the events of the day. More recently we have talked often about how long we would continue working and of our respective desires to provide well for our families. Just two weeks ago, given the volatile and uncertain financial markets, Scott told me he expected he would work till he is 70 (he is now 62), a four year increase from his previous plan to work to 66.

All that changed this past week, however. On Tuesday Scott send an email to many in the firm advising he has been diagnosed with incurable cancer, which began in his colon and now, despite six months of chemotherapy, has spread throughout his abdominal cavity. He advised he intends to embark on an aggressive course of chemotherapy, with the prospect of losing his hair, in hopes of stretching his life for two years and maybe more. The first signs seem unpromising but it is impossible to know how he will respond to treatment. My father was given two years to live twenty years ago, but his cancer responded well to treatment and he remains cancer free, his mental faculties intact, but with mobility close to nil.

Seeing my former law and running partners Bob and Brent go was sobering enough. The prospect of losing Scott, who had been the guardian of Parr Brown's culture and its moral center, is even more daunting. Pick your metaphor -- third act, fourth quarter, final inning, 11th hour, Winter -- anyway you slice it I have, in Bill Clinton's phrase, far more yesterdays than tomorrows. I feel sudden, increased urgency to get the most of those tomorrows.

I am inspired by the words of Steve Jobs in his famous Stanford commencement speech:

"No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

It is time to consider unfinished business. What do I need to accomplish in whatever time I have? My first priority ought to be my family, and some of the time, though not often enough, it is. That is Tauni's sole priority, friends excepted, and she does a world class job of maintaining relationships not only with each of our children but tending to and building friendships with our grandchildren. She talks to them all almost daily, often many times a day. I talk to my kids weekly, mostly, and my grandkids probably less, though I rarely miss a family gathering. I took oldest grandson Carter to a football game Friday night - BYU v. Central Florida - thinking all the while of how much my few outings with my grandfather meant to me, enough so that he remains perhaps the great role model and hero of my life.

I think next of friends. On the one hand I feel as though I am blessed with many. On the other, it is but a handful to whom I am really close. This includes brothers. These friendships require constant cultivation and I can only try to keep tending to them. More later on this, but next week I return to the site of my first Boy Scout camp fifty years ago with one of my oldest and most enduring friends.

Much of this blog has been devoted to fitness and that remains a huge part of my life. Recovery from my hip injury has not been easy and for a long time I wondered whether walking without a significant hitch in my gait would be possible. Today I rode 65 miles and, though tired, I came away from the ride with minimal limp. My goal to ride 109 miles in El Tour de Tucson in November is realistic and I expect to achieve it. I hope to follow that with a ride of the entire Ragnar Florida Keys route, contingent on my persuading friend Dee Benson to finally make that trip. My trip to the Keys to support Dan and his All Bikes No Vans team earlier this year was one of my best experiences ever. Now I hope to repeat the experience.

I want to continue to create, to finish the two books I have begun to write. I hope to write histories of our family. I want my children and grandchildren to understand something of the lives that made their lives possible. I need to visit and interview my German cousin with whom I have corresponded since my mission. It would be tragic if I did not learn more of her and her family before it is too late. My departure from Ragnar two years ago remains a crushing, though necessary, disappointment. Perhaps if I had behaved differently the outcome could have been different. But given who I was I did the best I could at the time, even if that best wasn't very good. That said, having left Ragnar, I still hope for some form of association, and to create new ventures involving the outdoor sports world that has brought me so much joy.

I plan to continue to read widely and to learn. I believe and love the concept of eternal progression, and intend to continue to progress so long as I am sentient.

I am so thankful I have healed as quickly and well as I have. The ability to move is a joy and a blessing, and it seems almost central to every other blessing. If I can discipline the physical, the mental and spiritual follow. It seems I need to take care of the animal before I can bring out the best of my humanity.

There is so much I wish to do and now it seems every day is a gift I do not dare squander for fear of failing to reach what potential I have left. Bob, Brent, Leslie, and perhaps soon, Scott, have left or will leave too soon. The circumstances of death or fatal illness occur randomly and unpredictably. As were my friends, I am part of the old that must soon be cleared away to make way for the new. I must live productively and happily, and now, if I am to finish the business for which I was sent, I must follow my heart and my intuition. In doing so I must tell my story, which is part of my unfinished business. And I must move quickly, for I do not know what time remains.

Broken Hip

2011-06-21T06:32:00.000-07:00

In a gathering shortly after the beginning of my second year of law school, several of my classmates shared how they had spent their summer vacations. One of my classmates explained that he had spent the summer training with the US Army, intending, as I recall, to embark upon graduation with a career as an officer. During a training exercise, however, he fell and broke his hip. This injury derailed his plans, as he was unable to complete the summer program. He concluded that the injury was the Lord's way of telling him he should not have an Army career. He now understood that he must look for something that would be more accommodating to the demands of his large family.

After the meeting, a close friend, who shall remain nameless, joked that, with most people a "still, small voice" would do. In the case of my classmate, who apparently was hearing impaired, the Lord found it necessary to issue the command: "Break his hip!"

That phrase may or may not have occurred to me when my father broke his hip last summer. Dad was, in his eyes (and maybe mine as well) indestructible until he was about my current age (62), at which time severe arteriosclerosis necessitated life-saving quintuple bypass surgery. After that, he never quite had the same spring in his step. As I recall, he retired from full-time insurance sales shortly after his surgery. Though Dad was always very busy and continued to serve a few clients for many years (and maybe still does), he became, for the first time in my eyes, an old man following his surgery. He still continued to pursue his interests -- golf, adding up long columns of numbers, yelling at the TV when watching sporting events, fulfilling church assignments, and spending time with family and friends on a scheduled basis, preferably with several days advance notice. But I no longer recall him bounding out of bed at 5:30AM, playing racket ball at the YMCA, jogging regularly, or needling his boys to excess as had been his practice while we were growing up.

About six years later he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. When diagnosed, the cancer had spread through his bones and was considered untreatable by surgery, chemo or radiation. The doctors had one remaining silver bullet that often gives prostate cancer patients a reprieve, but seldom a complete cure. Prostate cancer tumors feed on testosterone; if testosterone is eliminated from the system the cancer starves, at least temporarily. Dad opted for surgical treatment on his doctors' promise that, if successful, he might live another 3-5 years. As hoped, the tumors shrunk, and he soon Dad was cancer free. What Dad had no reasonable reason to expect, but what has happened, is that he has remained cancer free for 19 years and counting.

But, as with Hercules, the gods threw more labors in Dad's path. Somewhere around age 75 it became evident that Dad suffered from a balance disorder. His brain could no longer make the vast number of calculations required to process changes in ground surface and direct his feet where to go while maintaining balance. Dad learned to shuffle along on smooth surfaces, but uneven ground slowed him and, too often, grounded him. As fate would have it, Dad's primary contact with uneven ground came at one of his favorite places, the golf course. Now, even with a cart, a round of golf became a peril, the mere survival of which without injury was an achievement. One of Dad's first fractures occurred when he stubbornly refused to give up for lost a ball that he hit into a ravine. Unable to judge the surface, he lost his balance, fell and broke his arm. This was but one in a series of increasingly debilitating falls and fractures, from which we learned that Dad also suffered from severe osteoporosis. Besides breaking arms, elbows and wrists. Dad had a penchant for stress fractures to his foot. It seemed, after awhile, that there was seldom a time when he was without a cast or a bandage. Eventually he grudgingly accepted that he could not walk without a walker to aid him in maintaining his balance.

Early last summer Dad fell yet again, fracturing his shoulder. This was the most serious of the fractures he had suffered, not only because the cumulation of falls had drained him of a lot of strength, but because the shoulder fracture deprived him of an upper limb that was essential to supporting his body and maintaining any semblance of balance. As a family, we wondered if this signaled the end of life without constant nursing care. While deliberating how we might deal with that possibility, my brother Ron and his wife Karen volunteered to move in with Mom and Dad for long enough to nurse him back to health. (Mom wasn't exactly the picture of health either, having had two knee replacements and a recent early stage cancer diagnosis).

Not long after Ron and Karen moved in, while shuffling along with his walker in his kitchen, Dad apparently blacked out momentarily and fell. This time he broke the big one, his hip. Hip fractures often signal the end with elderly patients, and it surely appeared that Dad would be no exception. I recall gathering in his hospital room a few days after the fall. Dad is always impeccably groomed, and on this day he was anything but. He seemed so frail that even raising an arm taxed the limits of his strength. He seemed uncharacteristically downcast, and I wondered if his seemingly inexhaustible will to live was finally spent. Within a few days, however, he had set his goals for reaching physical milestones, had regained his color and immaculate appearance, and was focused on one thing, home. This time my sister Katie and husband Steve volunteered to move in with my parents. This arrangement provided the economic relief Steve and Katie needed while offering my parents the nursing care my parents required. Remarkably, after a few weeks stay in the rehab ward, Dad, once again, achieved his goal. He returned home.

Since that return, his forays outside his home are few and well monitored. He still attends church and the occasional family function. Mostly, he sits in his recliner with book or remote control in had. His involvement in sports now is limited to the morning paper and yelling at the TV, but the constant variety and drama of athletic competition still gives Dad a reason to get up in the morning. As for Mom, she accepts her caretaker role, and seems anxious only when separated from Dad for more than a very few hours.

I have observed Dad accept his condition with minimal complaint. My visits are too few, but when I see him he always seems in good spirits and appreciative of the small amount of time I spend with him. I have wondered if I could endure his labors anywhere near as well.

And then it happened. I have been working out for months, lost 30 pounds, recently completed the Salt Lake Century bicycle tour with son-in-law Blake, and am possibly the strongest I have ever been. On June 10, while at a Boot Camp session under direction of a trainer, on a day focused on core exercises, I choose first to work on a balance board, my least favorite core exercise. As I shifted my weight on the board, I overcompensated, the board flew out from under me, and I landed hard on my right hip. I couldn't move my right leg at all, and knew immediately I had hurt myself badly. The trainer told me afterward to me he heard a pop, though I remember hearing nothing.

The Farmington fire department paramedics arrived first. One of them broke a needle trying to start an IV in my left arm. They couldn't move me and called for help. The Davis County paramedics showed up next, large no nonsense guys who had undoubtedly seen far worse injuries than mine. The largest of them, who probably goes about 6'4", 275 lbs, grabbed my right arm and without fanfare jammed a needle in one of my forearm veins. Despite my whimpering, the Farmington and Davis County guys circled me, counted to three, and lifted me onto a gurney. I directed them to take me to Lakeview Hospital, which has the virtues of being the closest hospital to my home, and have a wonderful orthopedics staff and my brother-in-law Rand Kerr as CEO.

I arrived moderately sedated with morphine, enough that I was slipping in and out of a dream state, what Tauni in her more direct way called hallucinating. I had a few years earlier visited the orthopedist on call, Josh Hickman, for diagnosis regarding my sore hips. He told me I had moderately advanced osteoarthritis in both hips and would be a candidate for hip replacement once the discomfort got bad enough that I couldn't stand it anymore. I had learned the Dr. Hickman is an outstanding surgeon and was thrilled to learn that he would be providing my care.

Before seeing Dr. Hickman, however, I needed an x-ray. After all the attention I received that morning, it seemed odd when I was wheeled into an x-ray room with but one technician. I told him I hoped he didn't plan to move me off the gurney. He assured me that was unnecessary. He took the first x-ray with me laying on my side in the fetal position I had occupied all morning. The second x-ray, he told me, required that I roll onto my back. Though his tone indicated he would not mess with me, I told him that would not be possible. He told me that unless I rolled to my back, he could not take the x-ray. He told me to roll my shoulders back and the hip would follow. I rolled my shoulders but could not find the strength to roll my hip. He finally told me he was going to pull up on my sheet and flip me to my back. My brain was too addled to evaluate whether this was a good idea. Before I could process it I felt the sheet lifting and I flopped to my back. The pain of the maneuver, surprisingly, was less than I expected. I felt much more comfortable on my back than in the fetal position.

The only surprise from the hip x-ray was that my hip was merely fractured, not dislocated. Actually, from the x ray it appeared there were several fractures at the femoral neck, where the main femur bone joins the femoral head that fits into the pelvic socket. Dr. Hickman finally arrived around 1:30 or 2:00, bursting with energy and enthusiasm. He announced that my injury was just "bad luck." He said the location of the break precluded a hip replacement, but that he could repair the fracture with a rod that would run the length of the upper femur and pin that would attach the femoral head. As is always a wonder with surgery, there seemed to be no passage of time between the visit of Dr. Hickman and the anesthesiologist and my revival in the recovery room following surgery. I recovered a reasonable semblance of consciousness quickly, and soon found myself in my room surrounded by family. I have no memory of that evening, other than that I remained sufficiently drugged that my comments coming in and out of dreams, visions or hallucinations kept everyone wildly amused.

Given my workload and related travel plans, the injury could hardly have come at a more inopportune time. My first post-op reaction was almost relief that I would have some reprieve from all the travel and work. I finally went to the office on Thursday, six days after the injury. One secretary told me I was "white," another that I looked "grey," and there seemed be staff consensus that I was foolish to be there. They collectively did their best to run me out of the office and back to bed. The lawyers' reactions were appropriately sympathetic, but none of them commented on my color or seemed dismayed at my presence. After all, that's what we do, show up too soon and work.

Lawyer work ethic aside, I mostly rested the next three days. I did take one short field trip. I rode with my son-in-law and most of his team up to Exchange 6 of the Ragnar Wasatch Back in Liberty, which my sister manages. Trying to walk with crutches across the uneven ground of Liberty Park was not pleasant, nor was sitting in a fold up chair watching healthy and energized runners walk by. It was a relief when my daughter Mari called for help. She needed to drop off her cousin Kelsey and get to Oakley stat. Kelsey's mother Joeen, who was helping Katie, handled the crisis perfectly. She told Mari to drop Kelsey off at a McDonald's in Ogden and that we would head down to pick her up immediately. Thus ended my one great weekend adventure. I spent the next two days reading and watching Rory McIlroy's thrilling victory at the US Open, occasionally scouring the Internet for the latest NBA draft rumors.

I had a mound of work at home, and began to dig at it in earnest Monday morning, putting in a full day. My home care physical therapist showed up in the afternoon and put me through a round of exercises. Tauni was very concerned about my level of pain meds, so I called Dr. Hickman's nurse, and with her guidance came up with a plan to wean myself off them. I believe that, where drugs are concerned, I have a very non-addictive personality. I am not highly reactive and have never had difficulty dropping them following prior surgeries. Nonetheless, Monday night, after skipping the usual dose of oxycontin, I had transformed from a combination of Dopey, Sleepy and Happy to just plain Grumpy. When Tauni made the not-unreasonable comment that if I needed drugs for pain I should take them but if I needed them for sleep I should not, I hollered "I don't know what I need," gathered my stuff and stomped off to try to sleep in Brandt's bed, feeling sorry for myself for the first time.

It proved to be a painful night, and I awoke discouraged, impatient for the remaining recovery time to end, particularly to be able to walk without aid of crutches. I thought about Dad and his multiple fractures, who spent a combined six weeks of hospitalization last summer for his fractured shoulder and hip, and even upon discharge couldn't shower, dress or use a toilet without assistance, who even now can only move slowly with aid of a walker, and spends most of his days seated in his recliner. I thought of all the selfless care he has received from my mother, my sisters and my brothers. Each of them has sacrificed time and personal comfort to see to his. I thought about pain, about those who must face it day after day, no end in sight. I wondered how they manage. Where so much of my joy has come from getting stronger, fitter and faster, I wondered how I could face a life where those things are no longer possible. I remembered laughing about the Lord's command to "break his hip." I don't imagine the Lord told anyone to break mine, but I recognize my need to learn from this very hard dose of reality.

It is one thing be sanguine about the training benefits of pain - just enough to know your body is getting fitter but not so much as to signal injury. It is quite another to be sanguine about the pain that follows injury or that comes with disease, pain that tells you something is terribly wrong after the wrong has occurred, that seems to have no purpose but to sap your will to live. There is nothing to be done with that pain, other than to learn to endure it, and hope that the pain ultimately sweetens, rather than embitters. I credit my parents for their patience and endurance. I can't but admire my once invincible Dad still setting goals, making plans, finding little things that bring him small doses of joy each day, small bursts of sunlight through the storm. I think of Oscar Wilde's line: "There is no Mystery so great as Misery.'"

Admittedly, my small misery ain't much in the scheme of things. I am thankful for the health and strength I have enjoyed. But I am in the third act of my life, and, as in many things, my parents by their examples, have shown me that, even though I will recover, that recovery will last only for a season, which I must cherish. When that season ends, I will look to them for the courage, faith and patience I will need to endure with grace. And meanwhile, I hope to return some of the graces given to me while I have been in pain.

Ragnar Tennesee

2010-11-11T19:11:00.000-08:00

Running the Ragnar Tennessee was the focus of my 90 day training. When I started the program, I wasn't sure I could do it. I thought that, if I did manage to run it, I would never run another relay. When Tauni asked me to run Vegas, my first reaction was that I didn't want to do it for a number of reasons: wasn't thrilled about the course; wasn't sure how the family team concept would work; didn't know how well my knee would hold up; feared that if I did hurt myself I wouldn't be able to do Tennessee and accomplish my goal. After a day of thinking it over and testing myself with a couple City Creek runs, I was excited to run and, as I have written earlier, had a great experience. So I in the days leading up to Tennessee I didn't experience quite the climax I had planned. But by the time I got on the plane for Atlanta I was fully engaged for the adventure, excited about seeing places I had never been and running with a great group of people on my team

Here are a few impressions:

The Start. The race starts at Collidge Park on the Tennessee River in the heart of Chattanooga. Chattanooga, by the way, is a beautiful city that in recent years has reinvented itself as an art and outdoor reaction center. Our team, Ragnar Athletic Supporters for Healthways, had an 11AM start time. It was a cool, overcast day, which did nothing to dampen the spirits of the runners. Dan announced the start wearing a florescent green wig with an energy level that bordered on manic. He led runners in the wave, passed out candy to the loudest, and had each leg 1 runner do a lap around the start area upon being introduced. Tanner set the tone for our team, wearing a white jock strap over his black sweat pants. I noted a number of religious-themed team names, sharply contrasting to the many gamey Vegas names.

Our van had a certain symmetry - two race founders (Tanner Bell and me), two Kristin Bells (Tanner's wife and mother) and two participants in every Ragnar during 2010 (Amy Donaldson and Tracy Mullendore). Amy is blogging her experiences and observations at desnews.com. Amy was particularly interested in Tracy's story. He is running the Ragnars in memory of his wife who died of breast cancer three years ago. As he explained, Ragnar has become his church. It is where he connects with people and finds solace from his grief. From what I have observed, he is not alone in finding meaning in completion of a relay.

After the Dan's spirited introductions, which energized everyone, Kristin Sr., our first runner finally hit the road. Our adventure had begun.

Legs 1-6. The first six legs of the race mostly follow a narrow road along the Tennessee River. In the cool weather we all struggled to figure out the right number of layers to stay warm enough without overheating. Most of us ended up shedding clothes as we ran. There was intermittent rain until my leg, when it started raining hard about the time I handed off to the first runner in Van 2. The scenery was gorgeous, and traffic light. During this first group of legs, and throughout the race, many exchanges were located at churches, which seemed to be at a density of at least one church/mile.

I began my leg in a Gore-tek jacket with three layers underneath. I warmed up after a mile or so and shed the jacket the first time our van stopped to offer support. By the end of my leg I had shed two more layers and was running in only in a short sleeved tech tee.

Somehow, a short distance before the exchange I missed the sign for the final turn. Instead of turning right I continued along the road, heading up a long hill. Fortunately, before I got too far, a senior citizen couple in an SUV pulled off the road in front of me. Friendly as everyone in Tennessee had been, I thought to myself that they probably wanted to ask questions about the race. Instead, the first words I heard were, "You missed your turn." My reaction was first disbelief and then relief. As for disbelief, I remember races past when teams complained because the course wasn't adequately marked, resulting in their runner missing a turn and getting lost. In most cases the runner didn't see what was before his eyes. Now, as it turned out, I was one of those guys. On the way back to the exchange I saw the sign that I missed, prominently positioned where I might have run right into it. As for relief, once I gathered that the the couple knew what they were talking about I was relieved, first, to have been found before I got really lost, and, second, because I didn't have to run farther on that leg.

The couple dropped me off at the exchange, which was located at a school. I noticed my team looking for me to come running toward them on a trail. I walked up behind everyone and casually announced my arrival, surprising them all. Funny, actually.

After the run I queried on Facebook how long it would have taken me to figure out I was lost of the couple hadn't picked me up. Some wiseacre commented that I would have become like Forrest Gump, running till I encountered an ocean. Would that I could run that far.

Anyway, following the exchange we all piled into the van and headed for Sewanee, home of University of the South, where we had heard there was a great place to eat. Unfortunately, I can't recall the name of the restaurant, but it was very good. They served a wonderful bean soup. I even tried their coconut pie, which I shared with everyone else on the team. We seated ourselves at the only open table in the restaurant, which as it turned out was open for a reason - it was located right in front of the back door and every time someone walked in we got a nice blast of cold air.

Legs 12-18. Appropriately enough, Exchange 12 was located at the Cowan First Baptist Church. I say appropriate because there must be more Baptist churches in Tennessee than there are Mormon churches in Utah. In Utah, churches are built only when the church hierarchy decides it is time to build another church. In Tennessee, evidently, when a young pastor with a divinity degree figures out how to raise enough money and finds a market, he builds a church. It would appear as though the pastor market is not unlike the market for dentists or lawyers. Some have little shops in the country and barely eek out a living; others have what it takes to draw a big crowd, which means large churches with big parking lots. Those big churches make perfect major exchanges.

By the time we started running the rain was gone, the skies had cleared and the temperature had dropped. Kristin Sr., as usual, ran without complaining. Tanner struggled with a sore IT band and Kristin Jr. with a sore lower back. Tracy always ran hard with a fierce determination, not to mention perfectly coordinated outfits. Amy was ever cheerful, seemingly having an reporter's endless fascination for the stories of the runners. In virtually every van someone is running to stick it to cancer, to overcome grief or to please some team captain who wouldn't take no for an answer and discovered an inner runner in a couch potato's body. Whatever the twist, Amy could find it and spin it into a tale that teaches not just about running, but about the human condition.

I ran leg 18, the last in our van and the shortest in the entire race. Only 2.7 miles long, the first half of the leg features a few rolling hills; the last half is a steep downhill that ends at a park in Lynchburg. Knowing I didn't have far to go, I pushed as hard as I could through the hills. Then, remembering many a long, hard run down City Creek or Farmington Canyon, I picked it up when I reached the final long hill. I have no idea how fast I ran, but I felt fast - fast for an old guy with six decades behind him and a gimpy knee. Whatever the pace, it was a joy to run hard.

At the exchange old episodes of the Office were playing on a big outdoor screen, and hot chocolate and s'mores were being served. All very nice except that the temperatures were approaching the freezing point and the only folks watching the big screen were volunteers. I chatted with a couple of them. I swear someone must have given everyone in Tennessee happy pills. Like everyone I talked to they were excited about the race, had nothing but complements, hoped we would come back, and want to run next year. We've met some very nice people all over the country, but for uniformly pleasant, polite and enthusiastic I don't think I've been anyplace quite like Tennessee.

After hanging out for a short time, we drove to a motel somewhere near exchange Exchange 22, where Tanner had reserved a room. There we showered and, for maybe the first time during a relay, I actually slept for an hour or two, sharing a bed with Tracy, who for the record did not snore. I set my alarm for 4:30, which gave us just enough time to arrive at Exchange 24 within about 30 seconds after the Van 2 runner arrived.

Legs 24-30. It was dark at Exchange 24 but the sun came up by about Leg 26. It was clear and cold, the ground covered with frost. During this stretch, the hardwood forests of southern Tennessee gave way to rolling pastures lined with long fences. We saw large horse farms, some of which were reputed to be the property of the rich and famous, including country music stars and Al and Tipper Gore. I saw a few brave souls, the competitive types, running in shorts, but most runners wore sweat pants, gloves, hats and jackets. The morning sun provided little warmth but illuminated a tame but lovely countryside.

I was nervous for my leg. I didn't have the spring in my legs that I felt in Vegas. I tried to visualize running strong, but was having a hard time convincing myself. After what seemed like an endless wait Amy handed me the baton and I was off. On this, as on the previous leg, I took off limping but within a short distance was able to run with rhythm, though my legs felt heavy. The first stretch of the leg is along the shoulder of a busy highway. I had the thought that if some driver took his eyes off the road for a moment I could quickly transform from runner to hood ornament, which would be a poetic way for a race founder to go out. Once we crossed the highway onto a quiet country lane that vision passed. I had only to concentrate on finishing strong and marveling at the large McMansions of the outer Nashville burbs. After passing the "one mile to go" sign I came to a roundabout with an arrow pointing right. I debated with myself for what seemed like a long time and then followed the roundabout to where it dumped me on a road heading right from the roundabout. Running up a hill I again was met by someone telling me I had made a wrong turn, although this time the messenger was on my own team. They picked me up and dropped me off just past the roundabout for my final half mile or so. In the distance I soon saw a shiny office park that I figured must be the location of Healthways headquarters and Exchange 30. I saw Dan and his green wig announcing arriving runners. I heard him call my name and identify me as the genius who came up with the Ragnar idea. Having been called out, I ran as hard as I could through the exchange, arms raised in triumph.

Finish and Aftermath. After we completed leg 30, we drove to the house the Ragnar crew had been using the past two weeks. It was a large, beautiful house on a country lane, the best and least expensive, Dan told me, of any house they had ever rented. Everyone but me showered and slept. I showered, sorted through all my gear, and wrote.

We arrived at the finish an hour or so before Van 2. There I met my daughter Mari, who was waiting with her friend Sydney Rees who is trying to make it in Nashville as a singer-songwriter. Dan had arranged for Mari to do a recording session the previous day with one of Nashville's finish sound engineers. As Sydney told me, that just doesn't happen in Nashville.

The finish was on the river, directly across from Tennessee Titan stadium at the foot of honky tonk row. Still going strong, and still in his green wig, Dan announced teams as they crossed the finish line. Our final runner, Chris Infurchia, Ragnar's CEO, arrived wearing a large pink bra. He had run his final miles with a runner who slowed to encourage him in the true spirit of the event. Chris also had run the Ragnar Vegas and struggled with injuries. We ran behind him through the finish line and when he crossed a reporter immediately grabbed him for an interview.

After we all received our medals, including the coveted Deuces Wild medal awarded to anyone who completed Vegas and another Ragnar in the same year, we headed up honky tonk row for some barbecue, and then to our hotel.

Heathways arranged for Lonestar to play at the finish. This seemed like a really good idea, but due to a combination of fatigue and cold most runners, including the majority of our team, chose to not return for the concert. I arrived with Tanner, Chris and Kevin after the concert had been underway for at least a half hour. I saw Mari and Sydney next to the stage and joined them there. Dean, the leader of the band, commented on the small crowd, which he said comprised mostly friends and family, and invited everyone to come down to the open area in front of the stage. There I stood with Mari and Syd for most of the concert, the music soon causing me to forget the cold. After the concert I overheard Dean tell Chris that in the future it might make more sense to hold the concert before the race when everyone is still full of energy.

The idea of a concert celebration looks great on paper, but for the second time turned out not so good in the execution. The sparse turnout took me back to our very first Wasatch Back. That year I hired Ryan Shupe and the Rubber Band, then probably the hottest band in Utah, to play at the finish. As in Tennessee, most runners took off once done running, but a few came back for the award ceremony. We had contracted with Shupe to play and hour before and an hour after the awards. That year, as soon as the awards were handed out, every last runner took off, leaving only the Hills, the Bells and a few of our neighbors, the Rolands and the Williams, to watch the last hour of the concert. Like Lonestar, Shupe was dismayed at the tiny audience, but I think both bands and those who watched actually had a great time. I told Dan we really should bring Shupe back to the Wasatch Back. And maybe this time we can draw an audience. As for Lonestar, Dean seems committed both to running the Florida Keys race and to playing again at the Ragnar Tennessee, but next year maybe in Chattanooga.

I left the hotel very early Sunday morning to take Mari to the airport. About a half hour after I arrived Amy showed up and we talked for a long time. Other than Dan and Tanner, I don't know of anyone who appreciates the Ragnar series as much as Amy. She told me she had never run farther than four miles when she was invited by a reporter for the Salt Lake Trib to run on his team in the first Wasatch Back. She ran, including a seven mile leg in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm, and was hooked.

We mused about what it is about the races that means so much and keeps people coming back. On paper, it doesn't quite pencil out - hours of waiting, multiple runs within a 24-hour period, sometimes cold and wet weather, no sleep. What seems clear, however, is that something more than meets the eye goes on when people do things together that are hard. This week, an article in Sports Illustrated talked about how marathon participation has dramatically increased since the days of the "running boom," while times have gotten slower, and went so far as to say that completion of a marathon for many is a spiritual experience. Having run both marathons and relays, my experience is that marathons are more physically demanding but that the relay experience is more profound. As I said above, in every van there is a story of someone running to overcome hardship or push through a barrier. But beyond that, relays inevitably create bonds that change people, if only for awhile. As anthropologist Sarah Blaffer Hrdy wrote in "Mothers and Others," the abilities to empathize and cooperate are what make us human and separate us from the apes. In a world perhaps trending toward increasing selfishness rather than selflessness, relays force us into circumstances where we must cooperate and, through shared difficult experience, to empathize. As we do so, we touch on the best that is in us. And that, for many, is a spiritual experience.

Week 13 - End of 90 Days

2010-11-06T10:50:00.000-07:00

The 90 days ended this week, not exactly with a whimper but certainly, for me, without fanfare. Our last week we were on our own so we all planned our own workouts and exercised independently of each other. The group had a celebration dinner Friday evening, which I missed because I was, and currently am, in Tennessee for the Ragnar.

Because I left before the final Friday workout, I was weighed and measured on Thursday. Final weight was 180, down from 207. Waist measurement was 33.5 inches, down from 39. Nice results for 90 days. This is just a beginning, and I am committed to maintaining the discipline I have exercised over the past three months. Talked to Dan last week about meeting M, W and F for weight training at 6AM. Then cardio on our own and T, Th and Sat. If it works, Dan and I should be able to keep each other working hard. I also appreciate the opportunity simply to spend time with Dan.

Our final homework project was to create vision boards, boxes or books. This entailed finding pictures and key phrases to remind us of our objectives. I spent Monday evening copying pictures from my iMac and from the internet onto a flash drive for printing at Costo. I picked them up Tuesday evening early, and was surprised I had selected over 50 photos, far more than I could use. Tauni had bought a foam board and I used colored paper for a background.

I laid out the pictures and had a hard time visualizing how to make it all work. I had seen vision boards created by other members of our class that were works or art, and could not seen how mine would turn out near so well. Finally I started cutting and arranging pictures that meant something to me, jotting down key phrases. I finally came up with the following words or phrases:

FAMILY (used family pictures from summer vacation to Cannon Beach)

FRIENDS (picture of Parky, Wil Colom and Derrick Johnson at a restaurant on the road to Morogoro)

MY ONLY ONE (three pictures of Tauni; she is beautiful in all)

Hit the road, Jack (pictures of Morogoro Highway, Trapper's Loop Highway and Avon Pass Road)

"We thank thee, Lord, for all thy bounteous blessings" (Picture of Grandpa Barney and Grandma Jo with Mom and Dad at a Christmas dinner. The photo could have been posed by Norman Rockwell. The phrase was uttered in every prayer I heard Barney give and reminds me to be grateful)

You Never Know (picture of Beatty and Hoffman from Ishar - reminds me to keep trying because you just never know what you might miss out on if you don't)

"It doesn't take much to realize that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world." (Photo from closing scene of Casablanca, Bogart and Raines standing together watching plane carrying Ingrid Bergman and husband fly away. Reminds me to keep my problems in perspective.)

"To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift." (Picture of Steve Prefontaine running last race.)

As a man thinketh ... (Pictures of Nelson Mandela and Morogoro Mountain. The ANC spent time in exile at the foot of that mountain. Mandela visited Morogoro (I believe) before returning to South Africa and over 25 years in prison. While there, rather than hating, he imagined, and later succeeded, in making peace, when violence would have seemed much more likely.)

Nyumba Bora. (Picture of prototype house at SUU, copies of which we plan to build in Africa in furtherance of our goal to be first to successfully provide reasonably price middle class housing and mortgages in developing world, most likely starting in Tanzania.)

First lines of "Relay" from chapter entitled "Dad." (Picture of young with golf bag over shoulder next to car. Reminder of goal to finish draft of book by March 2011.)

I felt like I had completed my first Young Women's project. Even thought I stayed up past midnight Tuesday putting it together I had fun doing it. It certainly focused my attention on things that are most important to me.

After presenting my vision board to the group on Thursday I thanked everyone, including our trainers and coach Kristin, for being there and inspiring and motivating me. I meant every word. It has been a wonderful, life-changing experience. Physical evidence of the change, aside from the loss of weight and inches, is my having completed two Ragnars within two weeks, which I hoped, but was not sure, I could do when I started the 90 days. I was skeptical I could get fit enough or that my knee would handle three relay legs but I did it. Twice. I have made mental/spiritual changes. The details of those are for another day. Suffice it to say I am happier and more productive, and heave improved relationships that are very important to me.

Weekend 12 - Eden to Paradise and back

2010-10-31T13:18:00.000-07:00

Friday afternoon I called my good friend Dee Benson and asked whether he would be up for a mountain bike ride over Avon Pass - i.e., over the dirt road from Eden to Paradise. I did that ride one-way over Top of Utah Marathon weekend, but wanted to do the round trip. With winter fast approaching, this could be the last weekend the ride is even possible before next spring. Fortunately, Dee accepted. We planned to meet at my house at 930AM Saturday and from there drive to the south end of the road where the gate closes during the winter.

I went to bed Friday night thinking I would get up and attend our last 90 day Saturday morning workout. Still tired from lack of sleep during the week, and knowing I had a rough ride ahead, I decided it would make more sense to get up and make sweet potato pancakes, which I did. I offered one to Dee when he arrived. He tried to beg off, but after convincing him to try one he couldn't stop, and ate a couple more. One more sweet potato pancake convert. Why do so few non-Southerners know of their virtues?

I had carefully laid out my gear, knowing there was a likelihood of rain. When we arrived in Eden (or, more accurately, Liberty), I discovered I had forgotten my outer shell jacket, next to my bike my most important piece of gear. Consequently, we made a quick stop at Diamond Peak Mountain Sports in Liberty and found a terrific shell on sale. In fact, it was so terrific that both Dee and I bought one.

We finally hit the road around noon. The first 3 or 4 miles of the ride climb about 1400 feet. (Someday I will take my Garmin Forerunner to get an exact measurement of the climb.) That stretch of road isn't very good on its best day. After the recent week of rain, it is treacherous on a bike. In its wetter spots (of which there are many) it is more like stream bed than road, full of a lot of loose slippery rocks. Sure enough, I managed to lose traction in one particularly slippery area and went down hard. Fortunately, I suffered nothing worse than a couple cuts and bruises and kept going. At the top of the climb, which opens up in June to a broad, golden meadow, the trees had lost their leaves and the grass and flowers were all brown and dry. None of that, however, detracted from the spectacular mountain vistas that are a joy any time of year.

As we proceeded downhill toward Cache Valley the road improved and with it the scenery. We rode past increasing numbers of evergreens and even saw a few remaining deciduous trees ablaze in yellow. Dee noted a corral and commented that there is nothing he enjoys more than rounding up cattle, recalling the days he spend at Jim Clegg's ranch in Wyoming. (Jim's been gone 10 years now. He had a massive heart attack while riding his horse and was dead before he hit the ground. Can't think of a better way for a cowboy to go, though Jim was way too young, only 59.)

Since we got such a late start, I debated whether we should turn around and head back before we made it to Paradise. Always accommodating, Dee said he was up for whatever I wanted to do, but in his not-so-subtle way made it clear he would be disappointed if we didn't make it to Paradise. Heading downhill, the miles flew by so it soon became a non-decision for me to keep going till we hit the pavement. There Dee noticed with surprise the gorgeous ranches, wondering aloud, however, why anyone would want to live on Avon. After all, Avon is not at all close to convenience stores, movie theaters or gas stations. I observed that some people prefer the quiet, telling Dee of local opposition to paving the Avon Pass road. He seemed unconvinced. I at one time thought that paving the road was a good idea. But if that ever happened it would ruin one fine mountain bike ride, not to mention two of the best legs of the Wasatch Back. I am now squarely with the locals.

I told Dee it had to be about 10 miles from the end of the pavement to the Paradise Diner. Turns out that the first mileage marker indicated it was only 3. That's all it took to convince me we needed to ride to the diner, which was our original destination.

It took about 1:40 to make it to the diner. It was, as usual, empty, except for a couple of employees. I commented to Dee how I couldn't imagine they could make enough to pay two employees, let alone buy food. In his best cowboy way Dee observed that we showed up around 2PM, which wouldn't exactly be the lunch hour peak in Paradise. He suspected, allowing that he couldn't possibly know for sure, that they might have a bit more business around breakfast time, a decent crowd during the lunch hour, and a few more folks at dinner time. Had to admit he had a good point.

We ordered chile and hot chocolate. The waitress told us we would have one refill of hot chocolate, then corrected herself and said we could have as much hot chocolate as we wanted. Dee limited himself to one refill. It was so darn good I had two.

As we hit the road again it started raining lightly. Dee commented that there was one thing that could really spoil a ride like this. That would be concerning ourselves with whether it was going to rain. As he put it (more or less): "If you worry about the rain you'll ride like hell and worry the whole time. If you don't care, you won't worry about the rain and you'll enjoy it if it comes." In fact, I was worried about riding in a cold rain. After Dee's sage advice I calmed down and figured we would be just fine no matter what came.

As we rode past a canal near where the road transitioned from asphalt to gravel Dee mentioned a case currently pending before him where the US government has taken the position that grading a road next to an ancient canal running through someone's back acreage in Heber was permitted as "reasonably necessary" to the maintenance of the canal. Accordingly, the government argues it is not obligated to condemn the land for the road and pay the landowner for the taking. This got me sufficiently wound up that Dee commented I was even riding faster. I mentioned that this was the whole point of the due process clause, at which he commented that I sounded like a Democrat, which long ago for a brief period of time I claimed to be. It does in fact seem that if the government has more or less unlimited money to spend on blowing things up in Afghanistan and other far off places it ought to pay for plowing a road through a good American's back 40.

Dee then asked about my nutrition regimen, considering that since the 90 days began I have lost nearly 30 pounds. I told him I have cut out most sugar and starches, including breads, eat more protein and vegetables, and have gone cold turkey on Diet Coke. I added that I enjoy drinking water more than I ever have and even drink green tea in the office. At this point he shouted, "Stop! I can't stand any more of your monologue. You have eliminated everything I like to eat." I protested that I was just answering his question and that he was, after all, the one who got me to read, "In Defense of Food." He said he didn't care, he wouldn't hear it. I had eliminated a good portion of the fun in life. Which of course is fine if you have Dee's metabolism and exercise habits. If I ate like Dee I would look like an overfed hippo, to which I think I did bear some resemblance before I began the 90 days.

The ride back is a long, gradual climb. Somewhere about halfway to the summit the rain came down fairly hard. We noted with satisfaction the water beading up on our new outer shells, confirming the wisdom of our purchases. When we crested the summit we took a few minutes to enjoy the breathless view of Ogden Valley and the rugged backside of Ben Lomond. Then it was on down the steep final few miles of the road, which, with the afternoon rain, had rivulets of water running everywhere and even deeper ruts. Picking a passable line down the road seemed almost a technical challenge. I followed Dee, but still managed to wipe out once. Notwithstanding the valley view, it was a relief to finally hit the pavement. There Dee noted my mud splattered pants, shell and bike, and observed that I looked the way a mountain biker ought to look.

We stopped at the Eden Maverik to fill up with gas. Dee asked if I wanted anything to eat, then said, "Never mind, there's nothing in there you can eat." Still, I walked around with him and finally had got a pumpkin flavored frozen yogurt cone, which I enjoyed very much. Dee also talked me into only about my fifth Diet Coke since the 90 days began. When he dropped me off at my house, at which time the rain was coming down hard, he pronounced our journey the "perfect ride."

I couldn't agree more.

Week 12 - What's it all about?

2010-10-31T11:53:00.000-07:00

This has been an exhausting week. Got home late Sunday evening after the long drive from Las Vegas, and then was up at 4:45 for my Monday morning workout. Flew to San Diego for a mediation Tuesday. Back home and in bed around 1130 and then up early again. Worked till 9PM Wednesday; up early Thursday. Flew to San Jose late Thursday morning; arrived home late. Up early Friday. To top it off, the workouts this week were all long, including extended sets.

Through it all, however, I was happy to be up early and working out. In fact, the busy schedule and lack of sleep added to my sense of satisfaction.

Which all brings me back to my Ragnar Las Vegas experience, and wondering why that all works so well. Why are so many people so thrilled with that experience? Why do they keep coming back for more, even planning their years around multiple Ragnars?

Even though it apparently is human nature to avoid hardship and pain, there is no question that we experience satisfaction, even joy, from doing hard things. My brother-in-law told me awhile ago about certain people at his company complaining that what they do is hard. His response, in essence, was, "Of course it's hard. If it wasn't, everyone would do it." He proceeded to convince the company to adopt as its motto, "We do hard things." The family motto of my neighbors, the Bells, is, "We do hard things." Maybe why that is why I see so many Bells do so much good.

There has been a fascinating string of comment on the Ragnar Facebook page about Las Vegas Leg 24, the 8.8 mile run over a boulder-stewn "trail" in the dark. As I noted last weekend, I heard a lot of R-rated curse words from runners on that leg while waiting to provide aid to my son Brandt. Ragnar asked for comment on Leg 24 on Facebook - whether the leg should be improved or rerouted. A few folks recommended rerouting because of the risk of injury. But the overwhelming majority commented that surviving the leg was a great experience and recommended that it not be changed. It appears that, if anything, Leg 24 will become the signature leg of the Vegas race, just as the Ragnar leg, with its 1678 ascent over 4 miles has from day one been the signature leg of the Ragnar Wasatch Back.

In trying to understand the paradox of why we seek to avoid difficult things but gain so much when we undertake them, I reread Rob Schultheis' book, "Bone Games." I followed that up with Maria Coffey's "Explorers of the Infinite: The Secret Spiritual Lives of Extreme Athletes - And What They Reveal About Near-Death Experiences, Psychic Communication, and Touching the Beyond." Both Schultheis and Coffey come from the community of extreme climbers, who -though Coffey says they would never admit it - aspire to the mountaintops in large part for the spiritual enlightenment that comes in those places closest to the heavens, not unlike, say, Moses or Mohammed. Schultheis writes at length about the initiatory rites of shamans, which consist of various forms of extreme deprivation and pain that ultimately open the initiate to visions and enlightenment. Native Americans named these experiences Bone Games. Coffey writes of miraculous feats of strength, premonitions, psychic communications and other phenomena experienced by extreme athletes. There clearly is a lot going on that we barely understand when we are pushed to the limits of endurance.

For many, Ragnar as a physical test that almost could be likened to a Bone Game. The combination of physical exhaustion and sleep deprivation is sufficient to unclutter the mind and bring the present into sharp focus, thus dispelling stress and worry, opening the mind to the beyond. It would be interesting to know whether, and to what extent, this clear mind causes Ragnar participants experience what they would consider insight or enlightenment. Without question the Ragnar experience has created strong bonds of friendship and has caused many to improve their health and fitness through improved diet and exercise. It would be interesting to know whether this added discipline improves other facets of life, including family and other relationships. I expect that it would.

These positive changes, however, will be lost if discipline is not sustained. Since I was a small boy, I have been taught that we must endure to the end. From this maxim, two concepts emerge. First, no backsliding. We must have the discipline to maintain good habits for a lifetime. Second, this discipline requires endurance. Perhaps that is why endurance sports may have the most to teach us. We are made to endure to our limits. Only by continuing to push our limits can we reach our potential.

As the late, great Steve Prefontaine said, "To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift."

Weekend 11 - Run Like Hill

2010-10-24T20:47:00.000-07:00

We are on our way home from Las Vegas. Tauni is taking her turn at the wheel. Our team, “Run Like Hill,” successfully completed the Ragnar in 33 hours. I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around that number. My first Hood to Coast team finished in just over 25 hours and I thought that was slow. With this team, however, time was irrelevant. For several of us, just doing it was accomplishment enough.

We spent the night before the race on a houseboat at Callville Bay on Lake Meade. My brother Tracy’s daughters - Renee, Sarah, and Kelsey - were all relay rookies and jumbles of nerves. On the way to the houseboat they drove the first part of the course where they would run, which only served to raise their apprehensions to the point of tears. They, with Sarah’s husband Ryan, their brother Chad, and sister-in-law Michelle, comprised Van 1.

The pre-race tension was broken somewhat by brother Geoff’s recorded team cheer:

What are we gonna do? Run.

Are we ready? Shiii...

Are the Hills in the house? Woof, woof, woof.

That cracked us all up.

The Van 1 group departed early, with Tracy and his wife Joeen, our photojournalist. Progress reports trickled in as they finished their legs. Their fears had melted to something seriously approaching euphoria. As they neared Exchange 6 I checked in frequently with Renee for their ETA. Her last text to me before the exchange, “So excited to see you guys in a few minutes ... this is sooo much fun!”

This was also a first time for my niece Brittany, who, together with her husband Ryan, Tauni, son Brandt, future son-in-law Blake and me, made up our group. Unlike Tracy’s daughters, however, Brittany seemed positively serene. After a long day of waiting we finally met Van 1 at the Callville Marina, Exchange 6. Ryan handed off to Ryan and we were on our way. While we waited to send Tauni off at Exchange 7, Amy Donaldson’s van parked behind ours. Amy, who writes for the Deseret News and is running and writing a chronicle of the complete Ragnar cycle in her blog, cheerfully announced that her team would finish last, as is their custom. She told me one of her teammates had lost 180 pounds since he started running. He corrected her, slightly, agreeing that he had lost 180 pounds but gained 20 back. After Amy’s van pulled out, the Domestic Divas, Kristin Barrus’ team, pulled in (Kristin being my 90 day coach). I introduced myself to her team mates, who had heard about me from Kristin. I didn’t see Kristin as she ran into the exchange, but saw her soon after, her face flushed with effort, clearly having reached the elusive level 10 (max effort).

I brought four pairs of running shoes with me, which I freely admit is excessive. Anxious about my knee, I wanted to find the pair that would work best and planned to try out three of the four pairs during the race. After walking and jogging in all of them, I finally settled on Nike Lunar Glides for my first leg. I also brought support tights and two knee braces, which seems only slightly less excessive. As it turned out, I ran in the Lunar Glides all three legs but started with a CloPat strap and switched to tights and an Ace brace to support my knee for my second and third legs.

My legs got progressively harder - leg one 3.1 miles and partly uphill, leg two 4.6 miles and uphill into the wind, and leg three 5.6 miles uphill. Following Kristin’s coaching, before running I visualized myself crashing through barriers and getting stronger each leg. In the event, it went exactly as I imagined. During my first leg I quickly found myself in slight oxygen debt but became somewhat more comfortable the further I ran. As I crested the final hill I could see the exchange maybe 1/4 mile away and lengthened my stride, ran in at a decent pace. I began my second leg at about 2 AM, a cold wind blowing. I took the the Wil Colom birthday collection of songs to accompany me, figuring that it would take about 15 songs to get me through the leg. I lost count of the number songs, but recall listening to the end of love song collection, the gospel and patriotic sections, and the beginning of the civil rights selections. Back in the van I twice played through Diane Ross performing “We Shall Overcome” with the Budapest Philharmonic. Leg three passed through a beautiful red rock canyon, finishing at Spring Mountain Ranch, where tame burros roamed the parking lot. The gospel songs carried me through the final miles of the leg. After handing off to Brittany I hugged Tauni and then had to fight back tears, a race first for me. I have never felt such a sense of achievement upon completion of a race; I really believed I would never be able to run like this again.

This race experience delineated itself sharply between the three sets of legs. The first 12 legs run through the Lake Meade National Recreation Area. The scenery is dramatic, starkly beautiful. Leg 12 finishes at Lake Las Vegas Resort, a luxurious high-end resort built in the optimistic days before the Great Recession, green lawns and palms in sharp contrast to the jagged brown hills surrounding the resort. Exchange 12 has been my favorite exchange at every relay I’ve been involved in, and this was no exception. Runners are seemingly all high from having completed their first legs, fatigue and sleeplessness having yet to take their toll. The Lake Las Vegas oasis provides fantastic swimming pools, hot tubs, cabanas and food. Some runners relaxed by the pools and cabanas while others enthusiastically cheered on teammates at the exchange. Our group ate pasta together after sending off Kelsey at the exchange. Tauni’s brother Mike had offered to let us stay at his condo at the resort. Little did we know how massive the resort would be, and we elected to head to Exchange 18 rather than try to waste time trying to find it.

We were among the first to arrive at Exchange 18 in Henderson, a large park and concert venue. There most of us rolled out tarps and sleeping bags on the grass and tried to sleep. Knowing better than think I could sleep, I wandered around, jogged yet again in my Skylons and Newtons enough to conclude I best stick with the Lunar Glides, and finally pulled out my Kindle and read for a while. We sent Ryan off around midnight. By this time the wind was blowing and it was getting cold, enough so to complicate the decision about what to wear when running, long sleeves or not. We followed Ryan for the first part of his run, who reported a course marking issue that we promptly reported to race central. Tauni was cold and anxious before her run. I held her at Exchange 19, trying to calm her and keep her warm. Always nervous to run in the dark late at night, she asked that we keep close and provide a lot of support. After a couple miles she threw off her long-sleeved shirt and waved us on. Our fatigue grew and moods darkened as we approached leg 24, Brandt's leg. Brandt lightened things up a bit as he took off in his skeleton costume; I thought to myself there is a reason he works at Disney. Anxieties rose as Brandt’s leg veered onto a rocky trail. Tauni insisted we watch him carefully. Fortunately the trail ran in close parallel to the highway. We stopped several stops where I was able to give him water. I saw one runner lose it, f-bombs flying. That was definitely the low point. In the dark of night, I thought the course needs to be routed off the trail, but I eventually got some perspective, realizing that the changing conditions must be taken in stride and viewed as part of the overall race experience.

Brandt finally handed off around 6 AM at Exchange 24, which is located near an old school. I gathered that the school was of some historic significance and son Dan explained later that the exchange itself had some interesting features. By that time, however, we were all so tired that we couldn’t appreciate it and wanted to get to Exchange 30 and rest as quickly as possible. At that point I seriously questioned my resolve to run the Ragnar Tennessee. While I was thinking, Tauni, a madwoman in a hurry, grabbed the wheel of the van and asked me for directions. I searched the Ragmag for off van driving instructions but couldn’t find them. I then plugged GPS coordinates into my Tom Tom, selected yes to the option that warned of dirt roads on the route. As the sun rose we found ourselves on an empty and deeply rutted road that seemed to have been built to connect scattered mobile homes and dirt farms. As Tauni voiced her exasperation that the Ragmag lacked off van directions, Ryan sweetly pointed it that it did, which demonstrated my inability to read with comprehension during a Ragnar. After driving 15 miles or so we finally reconnected with the race course and followed it to Exchange 30. There my vision of a tranquil grass resting place was shattered, the exchange being located on rocky patch of dirt, the apparent remains of a landfill, various household articles including shoes and small appliances strewn here and there. Volunteers there served pancakes in an effort to raise money to save the old school at Exchange 24. I tried some and they weighed heavily on my stomach but was pleased to hear one of the volunteers say they had served over 1000 order of pancakes with a lot of runners still to come through. The line at the portable toilets was long, several panicked runners having to cut in the front in order to do their business in time to meet their teammates at the exchange.

After what seemed like a very long time, the Van 1 group arrived. They were all in high spirits, particularly Sarah. She joyously announced, “This is the happiest day of my life!”

I replied, “Happier than your wedding day?”

“Oh yes,” she said, “I already told Ryan.” I assume he understood.

Back on the course, everything became hilarious. Leg 31 is a killer, 10.1 miles with an 1100 foot climb the first 6.5 miles. Per the Ragmag the leg is unsupported, which the women in my van, given the leg’s difficulty, considered downright cruel. They insisted that I pull off to give water to Ryan. When I resisted, citing race rules, their response was that it would take three violations for us to be thrown out. I told them I was far less concerned about that than jeopardizing next year’s race permit, which they thought was ridiculous. As I pulled off the road, I announced, “This is freaking scary!” They all thought that was uproariously funny. Near the top of the hill we met Ryan again. Mari asked if he wanted her to finish his leg, to which he answered, “Heck, yes!!” Mari prepared to run and we pulled off one last time just over the crest of the hill. When he arrived Brittany questioned his manhood, telling him he didn’t appear to be injured, at which point he flipped her off and kept running. Mari eventually did get her chance to run, accompanying Blake on his last leg. I was anxious before my last leg, changed outfits and shoes a couple times, and to my surprise felt very strong throughout the leg. Everyone on every team seemed giddy at Exchange 36. We sent Brandt off, stopped once to give him water, and then drove to the finish to meet the rest of our team.

At the finish Joeen handed out Run Like Hill t-shirts. Renee, unfortunately, had to leave to catch a plane before we all arrived. Her absence from the team picture created a mini-crisis, which was resolved when her brother Geoff agreed to stand in for her with the understanding that her face would be Photoshopped onto his body for the official team shot. Tanner Bell announced our arrival at the finish line, and I saw Dan as soon as I crossed. It made me very happy that they were both there when I finished my first Ragnar, the founders together for that moment.

I learned long ago that with relays the journey is the reward, but this time I experienced an unexpected feeling of satisfaction, even joy, after the race. After checking in at the hotel we got on an elevator with another group of runners. One of them, a veteran maybe a few years younger than me, rhetorically asked, “Does anyone actually enjoy these while running them?” Looking back, the answer is yes, but for the middle stretch of this race the answer would definitely have been no. In the wee dark hours of the morning I was ready to again call it a running career, and was trying to devise the right way to break it to Tanner that I would definitely not be running Tennessee. Before the evening ended, maybe even before the race ended, I was mentally making plans for Chattanooga. In the end, all of it was worth it. This was an unforgettable experience and will be part of family lore for a very long time.

Week 11 - Headin' out for San Diego

2010-10-19T08:54:00.000-07:00

I recall a time when one of Tauni's and my favorite songs was "Come Monday," Jimmy Buffet's ode to the loneliness of the road. Seems like I have spent a lot of time there the past several years. I really don't want to take off all that much anymore, at least not alone. I'm currently flying to San Diego; had to miss my morning workout to catch this flight. I miss our group and am already mourning the end of 90 days, which will come all too soon.

Now I am thinking beyond, toward winter and how to maintain what we've begun. This includes continued vigilance to maintain good diet and exercise habits, but also maintaining friendships. Changes can bring both joy and struggle. I have always wanted to see what is around the bend and have sought to avoid routine. I am energized by new experiences, challenges and friends. And, yet, it has been such a pleasure to get up early every day, meet the same group of people working toward a common goal, and come away on both an endorphin high and with the attitude that I am up for anything life throws my way. That structure has improved my life and I will be sorry to see it go. Now I must take initiative to plan exercise routines, find workout partners, and maintain relationships.

With the Vegas Ragnar coming later this week, I already feel my adrenaline surging. It has been a long time since I laced up my shoes for competition. Low key though this competition may be - several on our team running in their first race - I feel like a racehorse in the gate, ready to burst out and push toward my limits, even though I have know idea why I feel I should. What in the world is it that makes us want to compete? Why do we have a need to push through barriers? I recall Kristin telling me about visualizing crashing through walls during the final miles of the Top of Utah Marathon. I passed that image on to Nina, who used it to keep going when she wanted to quit running during the St. George Marathon.

I flipped through an issue of Trail Running on the flight. The issue focused on 100-mile ultramarathons, and, in particular, on this year's Western States 100. Times keep coming down; the winner nearly broke 15 hours this year, a bit over 9 minute mile pace. That's faster than the pace I hope hold in the Ragnar. The Western States recap described how the top competitors had to back off and regroup at times during the race, or, in other words, fight through their own barriers. A lot of ultra-distance running is managing pace, nutrition and hydration, which makes smashing barriers possible. A relatively short overnight relay does not involve near the stress on the body of a 100-miler, but the process of regrouping and facing mental barriers is similar. Key for me will be to keep going without being stupid and pushing into injury.

It has been a long time since I felt this anticipation. I can't wait for the experience.

Weekend 10 - Gratitude hike

2010-10-17T14:44:00.001-07:00

Our 90-Day group gathered at 7:30AM Saturday morning to hike Adams Canyon. This was billed as our Gratitude Hike. I am afraid I missed the memo directing us to make a list of the 5 things we were most grateful for. More on that later.

I had heard of, but never been, to Adams Canyon. When we arrived the parking lot was already half full, and as we began our way up the switchbacks we encountered runners returning from their morning trail runs. Partway up the trail we saw campers and, along the way, many hikers. The trail is very well groomed and the scenery, especially on a perfect fall day, spectacular. Having lived in Davis County for nearly 30 years, I can't believe I have missed it. It already is one of my favorite places and it will be a place I return to again and again to hike and run.

Kristin, our coach, directed us to head up the canyon at our own pace and we quickly broke into small groups. I soon found myself walking with Melodi Christensen, whose husband Josh helped me prepare for the program with a number of muscle activation sessions where he successfully revitalized my legs and shoulders. Melodi is sweet, kind, quiet and serious. She seems very consistent and has been extremely generous to me. Kristin joined us after we had hiked for 20 minutes or so, and asked Melodi to list the 5 things for which she was most grateful. Besides her husband and children she expressed gratitude for aspects of her religious faith, all of which I found very endearing.

We were soon joined by Meg Naisbett, my fellow BYU Law School alum, and a retired Weber County prosecutor. Meg asked me what 5 things I was most grateful for, at which time it was evident that this was something I should have thought about in advance. I won't say I was exactly stumped, but I did have to give the question a few moments of thought. My first response was "my wife and four kids," which adds up to five. I then explained that if I consider them two categories - wife and children - I am grateful for friends, "this!!" (while holding my arms out wide and looking at the gorgeous canyon walls), and finally the experience we are soon to complete. My list is much longer than that, but it is a pretty good start.

I asked Meg, "What about you?" She expressed agreement with my own feelings about the benefits of our 90 days.

We finally all found a gathering place near the canyon stream and then shared our thoughts and feelings about our common experience. Without going into the details of people's comments, many of which were very personal, there seemed to be a couple common threads;

First, while we are of very diverse ages and backgrounds, we definitely have formed a bond. I recall during orientation that Marci or one of our coaches, possibly Kristin, commented that we are all part of this group for a reason. And, indeed, we all came seeking to improve our lives, physically and mentally. Doing so is hard and requires a lot of discipline, and it seems a bedrock principle of human nature that people who do hard things together for a good purpose inevitably form strong attachments. Many Ragnar and other overnight relay participants have reported a similar bonding experience, though no doubt the strength and durability of the bond is proportional to the length and difficulty of the struggle.

Second, while there was mention of the physical benefits of the program, people focused more on the mental and spiritual changes they had made. These included improved relationships with spouses, relatives and colleagues, discovery of self worth, banishment of chaos, and balance. There were more than a few tears shed. That and someone spilled her Camelback directly uphill from me so that somewhere in the middle of our discussion I suddenly discovered that my butt was cold and wet, providing momentary comic relief.

I hiked back with Meg. We got separated from the group and, demonstrating the skills lawyers lack, managed to twice walk past the trail spur that leads back to the parking lot (which as trails go is on the order of a freeway). We first wandered too far north, then too far south. We finally got directions from an old veteran and successfully made it back to our cars.

I got home in time to see Tauni drive off, headed for a bridal fair in Provo. The whole wedding thing is hard for me to comprehend. Tauni and I got married a month after our engagement and I recall nothing about the planning other than where to go on our honeymoon, the ring, something about the dress, and the location of our reception. I don't recall Nina's wedding being very complicated. The planning for Mari's is on the order of a presidential inauguration. I thought everything was settled a couple weeks ago with dates and locations of the rehearsal dinner and two receptions (one in Salt Lake and the other in Poway), the dress, the photographer and the ring. But there seem to remain a myriad of details to resolve that I scarcely comprehend - which include, so far as I can tell, the florist, the table decorations and the reception menu. I am sure it will all be lovely. Can't wait to see what they all decide.

Anyway, after Tauni left I changed into bike gear with the object of riding my bike for about an hour. I did the out-back ride through Farmington to Glover Lane, past Dan's house and out Sunset to the new junior high. Round trip 22 miles. Average speed 16.9 mph, a new record for me.

Following the ride I drove to Provo to pick up Tauni and visit my valiant brother Ron and wife Karen and my parents. Ron and Karen have been tending Dad most of the time since he broke his hip a couple months ago. Dad seems remarkably improved. I am astounded, though, that Ron and Karen have been willing to put their lives on hold to nurse Dad back to some semblance of independence. They have been remarkable, and for their service the entire family should be very grateful. They are not the only family members who have stepped in to help, but no one else has set aside everything to basically do nothing but meet the needs of Mom and Dad. My deepest gratitude to them for their sacrifice.

More week 10 - Vegas baby!

2010-10-15T03:46:00.000-07:00

I did another City Creek run yesterday, after a killer morning workout. Being still of knee no less sound, I told Tauni I would join her in Vegas. So this 90-Day experience will end with 2 Ragnars in two weeks. Yes, Chris McDougal, I was born to run!

The workouts this week were intense. To state the obvious, it has been a lot of fun to get stronger.

Looking forward to going with the flow at the relay.

Week 10 - I discover the fountain of youth

2010-10-13T08:24:00.000-07:00

It's Wednesday of week 10, and I am feeling good, better than I ever imagined. This morning we designed our own workouts. I started with shoulders, what I learned the week 1 was the weakest part of my body. Surprisingly to me, I was able to shoulder press more than double the weight I struggled with the first week. I also did one-legged bench dips with relative ease. The first week two-legged bench dips caused significant shoulder pain. So it seems I am getting stronger.

On Monday I attempted the City Creek Canyon run I first did 27 years ago. Those were the days when I ran frequently at lunch with Charley Allen and David Hardy. We would start at the parking lot next to the Capitol and run to Area 7. Total distance about 4 1/2 miles, though we counted it as 5.

I haven't run over 3 miles in at least 6 years, maybe 7. My goal Monday was to do the traditional run from the Capitol to Area 7. I set my watch altimeter to measure the climb and took off. Turned out that though I am not used to running for more than short distances I was able to reach Area 7, though I was breathless a good part of the run. I noticed my legs are definitely a lot stronger than maybe ever so the climbing was actually pretty easy. I walked from Area 7 to the half mile marker and ran the 2 1/2 miles back to the Capitol, mostly on the trail. There are several uphill stretches on the trail, even on the way down. The dirt felt a lot easier on the legs, and was a lot more fun, than the asphalt road going up. I made it down in at about 10.5 minute/mile pace, slower than in the old days but OK.

For the rest of the day following the run my right knee was sore and felt misaligned, but by morning the pain had gone away. I know one Ragnar leg will be fine. The question is how the knee will respond to 2 more. I talked to my physical therapist friend Nylin Johnson this morning. I asked whether he thought the knee would hold up. He said there are no guarantees, but went on to say that there are a lot of things we may choose not to do if concerned about possible injury. He asked, rhetorically, "Isn't Ragnar what you've been pointing to?" Without using so many words, he essentially told me that the best parts of life involve testing our limits, breaking through barriers, mental or otherwise. He suggested using the knee brace to help the joint stay properly aligned, and added that it would be worth it to rent a bike and a rack to ride between runs. Cycling always helps my knee feel better.

When I got home, Tauni asked if I would be willing to run Las Vegas in two weeks. I said sure. Now I am hoping I will have two Ragnars under my belt by the time the 90 days are done.

Before I started the 90-Day program, I felt as though age had slowed me enough that I was on the steady road to physical decline. I watched my dad struggle to get around and thought that was my fate, and soon. I recognize now that my barriers were mental, not physical. My body remains capable of much more than I imagined. I feel like standing on a street corner, preaching the gospel of nutrition and fitness. As I hear commercials advertising new diet pills and read of advances in bariatric surgery, I suppose I feel a bit sad those cures offer at best temporary improvement, and that health, fitness and happiness is available to most everyone through proper nutrition and exercise. If that message were widely taught and believe, America would be a healthier and wiser place, maybe even wealthier.

Weekend 9 - I mash my quads and seek enlightenment

2010-10-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

This seems like the first weekend since this 90-Day adventure began when I haven't been involved in some event that disrupts what I imagine is my more or less normal weekend routine. This weekend involved no out-of-town travel, no visiting president, no house guests . . . . Whoops, I take it back. We did have a house guest - my grandson Max. And he does require a lot of attention. As Mari observed, Max really puts you to the test because he talks constantly and he requires responses to his incessant questions. Definitely one way to keep your mind sharp.

Meanwhile, his parents Dan and Jamie are off on one of Dan's many work-related trips - to Kona to participate in the various and sundry Ironman activities. This is one of several endurance events Dan has attended over the past few months in the interest of mining for ideas to enhance the Ragnar brand. If nothing else, Dan is learning about the variety of endurance athletes and their motivations. Some, certainly, are all about ego and vanity; some, perhaps, about social connections; and some, a solitary few, about seeking enlightenment.

Before I get to enlightenment, however, there is the matter of my quads. My neighbor, Shane the pilot, drove past my house Saturday morning as I was watching Max ride down the sidewalk in front of our house on a scooter - all intense concentration - together with Tanner Bell's daughter, Maci. Shane asked if I wanted to join him for a bike ride. I had planned to do a run, but no way would miss a ride with Shane. Shane is a great companion but at least 20 years younger, nearly 20 pounds lighter, and a fair amount stronger than me. While he'll go easy for me, a ride with Shane means a good workout, which this turned out to be.

We debated how long and far to go. I suggested an hour and a half out, and then back, which was actually longer than I wanted to go. Having ridden the Timpanogos Alpine loop the day, Shane suggested an hour out, which was perfect. We set out for the Antelope Island causeway. About an hour out, short of the causeway, having had nothing nothing to eat all day, Shane told me he would like to find a gas station and some food. I proposed we had back and stop at the Swan Lake Golf Course along the way, which we did. There we had grilled turkey and cheese sandwiches. Well fed, we continued back, taking an extra loop past Dan's house. The final five miles Shane pushed me pretty hard. I could feel the strain on my quads and gluts, but didn't bonk. In the end, this turned out to be maybe the strongest ride I've done -- 35 miles, 2 hours 7 minutes, 16.5 mph average speed, 2000 calories burned.

Along the way I told Shane about my 90-Day results. Shane achieved similar results beginning a year or two ago when he bought his road bike and started doing two-a-day workouts. We also discussed the recent Boyd Packer conference talk and resulting furor. Shane mentioned he has flown for seven years with a co-pilot who is gay. His friend knows a many gay Mormons, four of whom have committed suicide. It is very troubling to me that young gay Mormons find their situation so hopeless that they see no out but to take their lives. The last episode of "Glee," the only TV show I watch, addressed this issue. The father of the gay character suffered a heart attack that left him in a coma. The gay son's friends rally round and many of them try to support him with prayers. He angrily tells them he doesn't want their prayers. He doesn't believe in God. How could there be a God, he asks, when he is ridiculed and reviled for being gay, a condition he did not choose. No God could be so cruel. This is Packer's argument turned on its head. Packer argues God loves his children that and therefore will provide a way for them to lose their gay sexual orientation. The tortured young gay man argues that his being gay is evidence there is no God. Could both be wrong?

The answer to these questions requires enlightenment with which I have not yet been blessed, though I certainly have my opinions. I certainly seek enlightenment, which is maybe the main reason for this blog. I expect answers to questions to come to me because I write. Writing forces me to think and to imagine, and sometimes in my thinking and imagining I find insight.

Last weekend Nina related to me that story of her friend who was accompanied on her nighttime leg of the Red Rock Relay by a tall, blonde man. Except that when she told her friends about this protector, her friends, who watched the last part of her run, told her there was no one there.

Early this week Dan talked about the mental (or maybe even spiritual) experience runners have while running an overnight relay. Team members seem to open up to each other, to reach out to meet each other's needs, to become connected or bonded. This experience is repeatable. We observe it again and again. Runners express enthusiasm, even euphoria, about their experience.

We have described this mental state or feeling as being the result of mental and physical stress achieved in a team setting. Dan wondered if something similar is experienced during ultramarathons or Ironman-length triathlons. When he asked the question I recalled a book I read several years ago by Rob Schultheis called "Bone Games." I reread the book this weekend and came across this:

This is the story Joanna told me a month later back in Kathmandu: "The fourth day out, we were walking in the early morning. It was raining so hard we could barely see a hundred feet in any direction. I had gone on ahead of Francesca, and I came to a stream. it was moving really fast and there was no bridge, just a series of stones. You had to jump from one to the next. I got out in the middle , and then I just froze. The next stone was just too far to jump to, and I was slipping. Once in the water, I would have been swept away, drowned --

"Suddenly a bearded man, a saddhu, appeared beside me; he was wading in the water, bracing himself on a long wooden staff. He spoke to me in perfect English, that funny kind of accented English educated Indians speak. 'Here, let me help you,' he said. He took my arm and helped me the rest of the way across the steam.

"I sat down on a rock, real shaky still from almost falling in the water. A minute later, Francesca came across the stream to where I was. 'It's a good thing that saddhu helped me,' I said. 'What saddhu?' Francesca asked. I looked around and there was no one there.

"'I watched you cross the steam,' Francesca said. 'There was no one else there. You started to lose your balance in the middle, and then, after a few moments, you fulled it all together. I tried to call to you, but the sound of the water was too loud. But there was no one out there with you.'"

There surely is more to the universe than meets the naked eye. Someone, or something, helped Nina's friend Marlilee and Schultheis' friend Joanna. Was it mind, or spirit, of someone from an unseen world? I am convinced we are connected in ways we don't understand and can't yet imagine. I have faith, or at least hope, that in time we will find answers.

Week 9

2010-10-09T04:56:00.000-07:00

Marci told me when she interviewed me for my slot in the 90-Day program that the mind transformation of the program would be more significant than the physical, assuming of course that I paid attention and did the homework. The physical changes are easy to observe and measure - I have lost pounds and inches and my newer clothes don't fit while my older clothes (those I bought 15 years ago) do. I also am definitely stronger and, to my astonishment, can run fast and even jump.

Mind changes, on the other hand, are more subjective. And like the physical changes, they may not be permanent.

All that said, I have noticed significant changes of mind or, if you will, spirit. Years ago a wise man asked me if I was at peace. I replied that I was not. He then told me to do what I needed to do to find peace. My first thought was, "Please tell me how to do that." But he didn't. He left that to me.

I spent years with a knot in my stomach. I talked to a counselor who certainly has been interesting and empathetic. After a year or more of counseling she recommended a pill to help dissolve the knot. Peace, however, whether internal or external, doesn't really come from a pill or a bottle. Though pharmaceuticals can help, real peace requires work and change, and the nature of the world is such that, even when we think peace has been restored, things happen that we cannot control to disturb our peace.

That said, I believe we can quiet the rumblings, or at least learn to live in a way that doesn't cause ourselves to suffer pain unnecessarily.

I have told Tauni more than once since this program began that this has been the happiest time of my life. I talked to Parky after my mid-term interview with Marci. I asked him how I appear to the world. He told me I appear to be at peace.

This has been a blessed week. I have been struggling internally with some work issues for a long time. That struggle has adversely affected my relationships with good people I work with. I sat down with Tauni Tuesday morning and told her of my concerns and outlined some alternatives. This, by itself, was a breakthrough. She advised that I talk to the firm to try to resolve the issues. I followed her advice and the response has been very positive, if not overwhelming. Kind words have flowed back to me that I did not expect.

I mentioned to Tauni that I think I have been more up front about things. She agreed, and said that my failure to do so in the past (which pretty much includes our entire marriage) has caused me to behave badly. It's hard to dispute her comment. Certainly my failure to discuss matters where I perceived the possibility of conflict has brought me turmoil internally and that turmoil has affected my relationships with family, friends and co-workers.

So, is Marci right? Is the mind transformation more significant than the physical. Time will tell but for now there is no question that the mental part is going well. I am, finally, at peace and hope it can remain.

Weekend 8 - St. George Marathon

2010-10-03T15:03:00.000-07:00

I left work at noon Friday to pick up Nina for the drive to St. George for her first marathon. She texted me Thursday, full of excitement and anticipation. Nina and I haven't had one-on-one time together for years, so I was equally excited for the opportunity to have four more or less uninterrupted hours to talk. Of course, as long as we were within cell phone range there was no truly uninterrupted time, but this comes as close as it seems to get.

We arrived in St. George around 6pm and went straight to the marathon expo at the convention center. The parking lot was still near full and the center packed. As soon as we entered the center we saw Tanner Bell, who manned the Ragnar booth on Friday and was there to support his wife's marathon run on Saturday. Tanner is still almost shockingly thin from the 90-Day program. He still had his left arm in a sling from dislocating his shoulder and breaking his collar bone while playing ultimate Frisbee. He told me he's lost even more weight since the injury because he's lost muscle as a result of not being able to work out.

Nina found a belt to hold her Goo and beans while running the marathon. I bought some socks and sunscreen. The quest for the perfect running sock seems almost as illusive as the quest for the perfect running shoe.

We had dinner at the home of the mother of Nina's friend Anndee. Several of Nina's couple friends from Ohio State were there, most also planning to run the marathon. Following dinner Anndee's brother-in-law Rick took us to his parent's huge post and beam cabin in Pine Valley, not far from the start of the marathon. I slept in a bunk room with a couple other guys, close to the door where I could make my way without incident to the bathroom during the night.

During dinner and then briefly at the cabin we watched Utah State dismantle BYU. Hard to believe BYU has fallen so far so fast. They have lost some great skill players but I couldn't help but think that coaching must be a problem. Sure enough, the day after the game BYU fired its defensive coordinator. I suspect more changes may be on the way. Seeing their ineptitude reminds me how hard it is to sustain excellence. There is not a huge gap between the good and the average. Hard work and a good system probably account for the distance even more than talent, as the Aggie's spirited demolition of more highly-recruited BYU athletes demonstrates.

We all arose early Saturday morning for the race. I assumed Nina would ride to the start with me. She loaded her bags in my car. I then saw her behind Rick's suburban with her friends. Next thing I knew Rick was backing out and she was gone. I assumed Nina was in Rick's Suburban with her friends but wasn't sure. I could have run into the cabin to check but Rick was on his way and I thought I'd better follow him. I assumed I would see Nina at the start.

Just before reaching the start area we were stopped by uniformed officers at a road block. They waived Rick through since he had several runners with him. Because I had no runners, they stopped me so, being in an area with no cell phone coverage, I couldn't be sure Nina was in Rick's Suburban. Nonetheless, I took the detour and started back to St. George, where I had planned to have a relaxing morning - breakfast, newspaper, book and wait for runners to come in. But I had the nagging concern that Nina might not have been in the Suburban and wanted to see the start anyway. I turned around, drove back to the road block, parked, and then walked the 200 or so yards through the brush to the start. Before reaching the start area I fell and drove a large thorn through the palm of my hand. A large pool of blood began to form in my hand, so I didn't notice till Nina pointed it out to me at the finish that another thorn cut up the back of my calf.

Trying to pick out one small blonde woman in the dark at the start area amid over 7000 runners proved impossible. I hoped I could find her in the 4 hour pace group, but no luck. Then I ran to the front of the start chute, where I hoped I could pick out Nina after the gun sounded when she came out of the chute. Again no luck. After the runners had all cleared I walked back to my car and drove the 10 or more miles back up to the cabin in Pine Valley. I found one of Rick's kids there, who assured me everyone was gone. Thus calmed, I departed again for St. George, only this time, with the main highway blocked for the marathon, I had no choice but to head north and drive through Cedar City. The whole operation involved a drive of 170 miles took over three hours. I made it to St. George right about 10AM, 3 hours and 15 minutes after the start.

As I drove up Bluff Street I saw cones blocking the street and runners crossing. They were moving surprisingly fast. I quickly found a place to park and walked uphill to a sidewalk along race course where I could continue to walk against the flow of runners and watch for Nina. I came upon an aid station where a volunteer told me it was 1.2 miles to the finish. Almost immediately I saw Nina's friend Holly run by. She had projected a finish time of 3:20, she was almost right on target.

I continued uphill, hoping to see Nina soon. At about 10:45 I was getting concerned when in the distance I saw a small blonde in red singlet with black shorts trimmed in red and green. I soon recognized her as Nina. To my relief, she looked good and was running efficiently. She saw me, flashed a huge smile and gave me two thumbs up. I snapped a couple photos as she ran past, and then called Tauni to report.

My next task was to make it to the finish line as quickly as possible. I was probably about 1 and a half miles out. I started to run, and as I did, found that the runners were moving faster than I thought, at what in my current state is a pretty brisk pace for me. I started cutting across parking lots and through a park to where I again met the race course. I ran on the opposite side of the street from the runners for their last two or three turns until I hit the final straightaway. I then saw Nina again, slightly ahead of me. I ran as fast as I could to pass her and get in position for a picture near the finish. Before I reached my goal a police officer waived me off the road and onto the sidewalk. There I found myself behind a wall of spectators and could barely see the runners but kept Nina in view as I continued to run down the sidewalk toward the finish. I snapped a few pictures holding my camera over spectators, hoping I would capture Nina. Finally, I reached the finish line grandstand and could see nothing more. I had no option then but to head to the finish area and hope I could find Nina.

The St. George Marathon is extremely well organized. My two encounters with local police attest to their efficiency at crowd control. That said, without Nina having a cell phone, and with thousands of runners and their families at the finish, it was going to be a long wait before I found her. I found the gate where runners emerged from the finish area and waited ... and waited ... and waited. After 45 minutes or so I found a clear area in the grass near the gate and sat down, hoping Nina would find me. After another half hour or so I saw her walk out the gate with her friend John Bowen. They were engaged in conversation and didn't see me. I finally got her attention. Her first words were, "It was HARD, Dad." But she then quickly added, "I ran 4:05. I wanted to run under 4 hours for you, but I gave it everything I had."

I told her I wanted her to break 4 hours for herself, but truthfully there was a big part of me that wanted to see her run as fast as I did on my one St. George attempt - 3:55. As it turned out, her time for a first marathon was very impressive on one of the hottest St. George Marathon days ever. Over 1700 of the 7000+ runners who started didn't finish. Average finishing time was 4:24. Two of Nina's friends collapsed on the course. One passed out near the finish. No one saw him for nearly a half hour, when his wife noticed him, got him revived and had a couple men carry him across the finish line. Another friend began vomiting around mile 18. It also took him about a half hour to calm his stomach and revive himself enough to walk to the finish.

It is quite a contrast between the universally energetic crowd at the start and the exhausted, sore runners at the finish. Those who spend the most time on the course seem to suffer the most. I noticed a big difference in the apparent condition of the runners on pace to finish in the 3:20 range and those finishing near or after 4 hours. Running a marathon under any conditions is a challenge. Running in the heat can be brutal. Nina prepared and managed the race well. She put in the requisite long runs, and during the race walked through the aid stations and kept herself well nourished and well-hydrated. She told me she was very glad she ran her own race rather than hanging with her friends who came in around 5 hours. After all her hard work, she deserved a time reflective of her effort.

It was a lot of fun for me to experience Nina's joy in her accomplishment. She told me more than once after the race, "I am SO happy, Dad." I enjoyed hearing her retell her race stories to friends. She told me she was so glad I was there with her, which made me feel very good.

Nina being Nina, she made a friend during the race, a woman named Merilee, who she ran with for the first 10 or so miles of the race. Merilee wanted to qualify for Boston, meaning a faster pace than Nina was running, so Nina let her go.

Merilee told Nina of her experience during the Red Rock Relay encountering a couple of threatening cowboys during the middle of the night. She said she prayed and was impressed to walk away from them when she saw a tall blonde runner who told her she could run with him. After awhile he said her pace was faster than his and asked if he could simply shine a light on her and run behind. Not long after her team van arrived and accompanied her to the exchange. When she told him about her protector, her teammates told her there was no one there.

After Nina told me this story she said she really wanted to reconnect with Merilee but didn't know her last name. Turned out she saw Merilee again around mile 23. Nina thought she might be able to find Merilee in the finish results and then locate her. Serendipitously, it seems, Nina's cousin Jeff's wife Alena wrote on the family website of her neighbor Merilee who had run the race and talked of a wonderful woman named Nina she met during the race. Alena posted Merilee's phone number and it turned out she was indeed Nina's new friend.

What unseen forces connect us with people? That is one I can't answer, though it certainly seems at times that an unseen hand guides us to people who bless our lives. Nina, with her warm and open heart, has a gift for making such connections.

A lot of memories of my St. George Marathon rushed back as I wandered the start area. I ran it in 1987, along with several friends, including running partner Charlie Allen, law partner Bob "Mad Dog" Henderson and Dr. Tom Dickinson. I had injured my hamstring and didn't run at all for the two weeks preceding the marathon. Consequently I was rested and my legs fresh on race day.

I vividly recall the cool morning and warming bonfires in the start area. I remember the excitement when we finally began our run and the ease of the first 13 miles. I followed a couple of runners, one a woman who kept up an entertaining stream of chatter for miles. I strategically walked the Veyo hill, thinking there was no point in expending a lot of energy on that climb, and walked through all aid stations, being careful to get lots of nutrition (in the form of Gatorade) and hydration (water). The easy running suddenly turned into a slog around mile 18. There a gradual 2 mile climb began and by mile 20 it was only by act of sheer will that I kept joining. Charlie's wife Suzi met me there, and ran most of the final six miles with me. She chatted the entire time and it took so much energy to concentrate that it almost heard to keep her tuned in. The final straightaway seemed endless, and then, suddenly, I was under the finish banner at 3:55. My friends had all finished long before me, but I was satisfied that I had run as well as I did, injury and all. For a day or two I had to walk down stairs backward, so sore were my quads. I only ran one more marathon, Portland in 1993, and there achieved my PR of 3:38. Being there with Nina made me wish I had run a few more. I am glad to have completed the two I did run.

Week 8 - What Next?

2010-10-03T14:42:00.000-07:00

Writing this blog, I have been surprised how eventful life has been from week to week. It seems as though this has been an unusually busy time, but maybe not. Maybe writing makes me more aware. I am eager to find out what happens next.

To my surprise, Tauni decided this week she wants to sign up for Marci's next 90-Day group. With wedding expenses looming, she was concerned about cost. I told her I think it is worth it and that I would pay. She interviewed with Marci, and is now committed to the next group. I am excited for her, and for me. Not just that she will get very fit. Her participation will motivate me to continue working out and eating well. Even though the workouts have been tough, I am already mourning the completion of the program. I will miss the group, the discipline of following the workout program, getting up early every day, and the accountability.

I am committed to continuing the good habits I have formed.

This week was possibly the biggest weight release of any week so far. Presumably that is the result of stepped up metabolism resulting from increased muscle. I certainly have been hungrier. People now comment frequently about my thinner profile, which is satisfying. I still see a lot of work to get where I want to be.

The exercises this week combined dumbbells with a lot of squats and lunges. This takes flexibility and balance, which are challenging to me. Next week's workouts look equally, if not more challenging. Dan told me workouts get increasingly intense. I have not been disappointed.

We also are talking more about relationship issues. I listened this week to the Love Languages CDs. Tauni's and mine definitely are different, which undoubtedly has been a source of frustration for both of us. Her's is service; mine is affirmation. She wants help; I want compliments. I bring her flowers; she wants the faucet fixed. I want compliments; she pays the bills. And so it has gone.

But I am learning, and no doubt we both love each other very much. I am excited for what we can learn together as she goes through this program.

Weekend 7 - I meet the president

2010-09-27T20:26:00.000-07:00

I worked out with my 90-Day group Saturday morning, even ran on the treadmill following the group workout without apparent damage to my knee. I am feeling both coordinated enough and light enough on my feet that running the Ragnar distance seems increasingly possible.

Following the workout I returned home to find Blake and Mari in the kitchen making pumpkin bread. That reminded me of the sweet potato pancakes Tauni and I had in Memphis, so I decided to see if I could find a recipe. Sure enough on recipe.com I found a recipe for Louisiana sweet potato pancakes, which had received 5 star reviews. I happened to have a few sweet potatoes in the pantry, having read that they are the perfect food. I boiled a couple potatoes, and mixed them with flour, nutmeg, cinnamon, baking powder, egg and milk. They were spectacular with a bit of honey and maple syrup.

From there I showered, put on my new black suit and made my way to the Million Air terminal at the airport to meet the president of Senegal with Parky. I arrived early enough that the only other people there were Brad Cook and Jon McNaughten of SUU and the half dozen or so Secret Service men assigned to protect the president. Next to arrive was the press in the form of Lee Benson, the only person present not wearing a suit. The Secret Service asked for his press credential. He managed to produce a faded employee card, which didn't impress them. They told him that if he approached the president without a press credential hanging from his neck someone would put him down. I think Lee caught their drift. Nonetheless, after the president and his encourage of 40 people arrived in two airplanes, Parky escorted Lee to the president's limo, where Lee managed to ask a few questions without any of the Secret Service men getting trigger happy.

The president drove off at the head of a motorcade in a white SUV followed by a half dozen or more black vans. Later at the hotel the Senegalese ambassador to the US reamed out the Secret Service chief for putting the presidential car at the head of the motorcade and having the president in white car that stood out from all the black vans. She had a point. It was as if the Secret Service had arranged for the president to be in a car labeled, "Hey assassins. Here I am. Come and get me." Fortunately, despite the invitation, the motorcade made it to the Grand America Hotel without incident.

We hung out at the hotel for awhile, Parky going over and revising the president's schedule with the ambassador. We then proceeded to a reception at the Alta Club, hosted by former governor and Bush cabinet member, Mike Leavitt, an SUU graduate for whom a public policy institute at SUU is named. Present were a number of legislators and business leaders. After the opening ceremony, at which the president was given various awards and gifts, the president met with business leaders who explained their interest in doing business or charitable work in Senegal. The reception was followed by dinner at the Grand America, hosted by the Waterford Institute, whose early learning program has been implemented on a pilot basis in Senegal. Tauni and I sat at a table with the vice president of the Senegalese assembly, the Senegalese military attache to the embassy in Washington, and the embassy's economic officer. The vice president assured me that our housing project could be very important to his country, and otherwise had little to say. The embassy officials, on the other hand, had a lot to say, including explaining that Iran's Ahmadinejad is a very smart man, skillful in raising questions about US foreign policy. We really had a delightful conversation. The military attache had spent 7 years in Germany, attending their war college among other things, so he and I even chatted in German for awhile.

The next morning I got up early and drove with Bruce Anderson and Dean Hutchings to Cedar City for meetings there regarding the housing project. We met first with Matt Edwards, the SUU faculty member who has designed the house we propose to build, and later, after a short field trip to the Kolob overlook in Zion National Park, met with the president and his advisors regarding the housing project. The president seemed to like what he heard, telling us that he would give us 200 acres of land if we would build houses in Senegal.

Parky was thrilled at the outcome. Though I was happy that there is opportunity in Senegal, and charmed by the Senegalese people I met, Dean, Bruce and I were all sobered by the magnitude of the project before us. Completing the housing design, building a prototype, and then launching a real company to build houses in two African countries, Senegal and Tanzania, will require a huge amount of work. But if we can really do it, our providing affordable housing and mortgage financing will be a wonderful thing for those countries. And it won't do us any harm either.

Parky is talking of going to Senegal and Morocco in October and Tanzania in December. Got to finish the 90 Days first. Then off to see the world, a lighter, fitter, and hopefully more sane man than I was before the 90-day program began.

Over the weekend Tauni told me she is interested in enrolling in the next 90-day group. I texted Marci with the news. Tauni is scheduled to interview with her next Wednesday. Can't wait to hear how that turns out.

Week 7 - Halfway through 90 days

2010-09-27T18:30:00.001-07:00

We had midterms this week. Our trainers finally reviewed how much weight and inches we have lost. Or as they prefer to say, how much fat we have released. My totals were 15 pounds and 14.5 inches lost. Not bad. That puts me within range of my goal of getting under 180, and actually close to my marathon weight of 170. The good news is that people are noticing the weight loss and my running is getting easier. Bad news is that most of my pants don't fit, which means either alterations or more clothing purchases. I picked up the three suits I bought in New Orleans from the tailor this week. I wore the black suit this weekend (more on that later). Parky told me I looked like a movie star. I would say he was being ironic except that he doesn't do irony. He does do BS, which is probably more to the point.

Our homework has included a 7 CD audio set entitled "Loving What Is" by Byron Katie. The book centers around 4 simple questions Katie discovered while recovering from stress and depression in a halfway house in 1986. Since that time she has done what she calls "the Work" with hundreds of people, walking them through the four questions in an effort to free them from stress and woe. I've listened to six of the seven CDs. You would think I'd have the questions memorized but I'm not entirely sure that I do. Here's what I remember.

As to a stressful or distressing thought, such as "my spouse should listen to me," as the following questions:

1. Is this true?

2. Do I absolutely know that this is true?

3. Where would I be without this thought?

4. Is there a non-stressful way to think about this thought?

After going through the questions, she recommends turning the thought around. In this case, the turnaround would be, "I should listen to my spouse."

Her effort is to get people to accept reality, and a lot of this involves eliminating the "shoulds" from our thinking, at least as applied to the behavior of others. In so doing, we learn to accept and love reality, or, as she says, to unconditionally love people, meaning to love them as they are, not as we wish they might be.

Over the years, these questions might have helped me with a number of important relationships and issues. As for the future, you just never know, but I think the questions could make a difference.

Tuesday I traveled to Cedar City to meet Parky and talk with him to the Southern Utah University administration regarding a deal for use in Africa of a house design developed by Matt Edwards of the university's construction management department. We came to a basic understanding, although I've worked through too many deals to believe a deal is done until it has been written up.

The university president, Mike Benson, and his provost, Brad Cook, are extraordinary. Both have Oxford PhDs, have amazing academic accomplishments, and more importantly are warm, engaging people who have the rare combination of vision and ability to get things done. They have launched a number of major programs, including their International Outreach program. They see the housing project as a way to potentially give their students international experience, attract international students, and begin to create a stream of royalty income. Because of his extensive political connections, particularly in Africa, they have given Parky the official title of University Ambassador, in which capacity he arranged for the president of Senegal to visit the university last weekend. Not bad for a small college in Southern Utah.

Weekend 6 - Avon Pass

2010-09-19T16:23:00.001-07:00

During my Friday call with Marci I told her I needed a break from high intensity exercises on Saturdays. I need both to let my joints recover and also to put in some long, slow distance. Out of respect for my goal of running the Ragnar Tennessee, she agreed.

Saturday I tackled a different goal. The 13-mile dirt road from Liberty to Avon has been a personal challenge since we built our cabin. During the first 2-3 rugged miles the road climbs over 1500 feet to one of the greatest mountain views I can imagine. To the south is the sheer east face of Ben Lomond. To the north is a broad meadow bordered on each side by tree-covered mountains. I have tried to ride that road on a mountain bike twice before. My first attempt was with Lee Benson, who did the ride as part of his annual series of columns about a multi-day bike tour of some part of Utah. We rode on a gorgeous fall day. Lee coaxed me farther than I otherwise might have gone but about halfway up I dismounted and walked for about a mile before riding the last part of the climb. My second attempt was in late June - three months ago. Again, I dismounted about halfway up and this time walked the remaining couple miles to the summit. It took me 3 hours to cover the distance from the gate entrance to the road in Liberty to the one cafe in Paradise.

Here's what Lee Benson wrote about our ride:

"Now I'm going to show you the inspiration behind the Wasatch Back route," said Steve Hill, who, like any good sports announcer who appreciates the value of silence at a big moment, then shut up and didn't say another word.

There was also the small detail that neither he nor I could breathe.

We were climbing a dirt road between Ogden Valley and Cache Valley. Our mountain bike sprockets were at 1 and 1, aka the granny gear, and they stayed there until we reached what for any number of reasons could be called the high point of the ride.

Hill got off his bike at the summit and looked around at the horizon.

Then he turned his gaze to the 13-mile stretch of rock and dirt that got us there."Amazing, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically as he gazed at spectacular mountain scenery suitable for framing anywhere in the world.

The remote road, situated only a few miles from the freeways even though it feels like a million, traverses a part of Utah largely unseen, exposing mountain views long hidden from the masses.

It's sort of like having a Renoir tucked in the back of the room, hidden behind an Andy Warhol.

For Hill, the 13 miles represents the missing link he'd long been looking for in his quest to map out the perfect Utah long-distance running relay route.

Ever since moving to Utah from Oregon, Hill had dreamed of one day interrupting his day job — he's a lawyer — long enough to replicate the famous Hood to Coast Relay he'd participated in multiple times as an avid runner in Oregon.

Hood to Coast starts at Mount Hood and ends 197 miles later at the Oregon Coast. It was started in 1982 by Bob Foote and soon became the world's most popular running relay. Every year, 1,000 12-person teams — that's 12,000 runners — enter the one-day event, and it would be many more than that if there wasn't a cap limit on the number of entrants.

Hood to Coast shows off the best of Oregon.

Hill wanted to show off the best of Utah.

For years, as he drove around the state, he tossed his idea around in his mind, trying to conjure the perfect route. But it wasn't until his wife, Tauni, lobbied for a vacation cabin in the Ogden Valley that things finally started moving in the right direction.

One day, after purchasing a lot above the town of Liberty, Hill looked to the north where the 13 miles of rock and dirt starts its ascent to the summit and asked, "Where does that road go?"

The rest is relay history.

Steve and his son, Dan, used the 13 miles of dirt to link a running route that stretches 180 miles from Logan to Park City — every bit of it on the other side of the heavily populated Wasatch Front.

They called it the Wasatch Back Relay.

The first Wasatch Back was held in 2004 with a mere 22 12-person teams — and half of those were friends and relatives of the Hills.

Six years later, not only is the Wasatch Back the biggest running event on the Utah calendar — its cap of 750 12-person teams was reached this year months ahead of the June event — but it has spawned another nine such relays around the country.But word spread fast about the amazing scenery and welcoming, less-traveled backroads.

Collectively, these events are known as the Ragnar Relays. Ragnar is reputedly a ninth-century Norse king renowned for his wild and daring adventures. When it was decided to develop other relays and model them after the Wasatch Back, Ragnar was chosen as the national brand.

The rapid growth and increasing demands of Ragnar caused Steve — who still, incidentally, has that day job — to bow out of the business side of running relays, although Dan remains president of Ragnar.

But the course that got it all started will always be Steve Hill's baby, particularly those 13 miles that glued it all together. Whenever he feels the urge, he can still climb to the top and enjoy the breathless view.

My plan Saturday was to hit the road around 7AM, thinking that would get me to the finish line of the Top of Utah Marathon in Logan around 1030AM. That's when I expected Kristin Barras, one of our trainers, to finish the marathon. Warm weather was forecast but it was cold when I took off, closer to 730 than the 7AM departure I planned. It took me longer than expected to ride from our house to the gate, nearly a half hour. I started up the dirt road apprehensively, fearing that I wouldn't have the stamina to ride to the top without walking, that I would slip and fall due to the loose dusty surface of the road, and that if I couldn't make it to the top without walking I would miss Kristin's finish.

I needn't have worried. I powered to the top, getting off my bike but once to let a truck pass. Otherwise the climb went quickly and relatively easily. Even the descent went faster than expected. I gained confidence the further I rode and eventually let go of the brakes and cruised off the mountain as fast as I could go. I reached the Paradise at 930AM, one and a half hours from the gate, just about exactly half the time it took me in June. I came down the rode whooping and hollering, totally stoked that I conquered the climb. The autumn beauty of the hills matched my joyous mood as I achieved a personal best, something I doubted I could do.

Once in Cache Valley I rode furiously to reach the finish before 1030AM. I was on the way to making it easily when my rear tire went flat. I had been riding along the marathon route, doing a slalom between the orange barriers separating runners from traffic. As I came around one of the orange barriers my tire slipped and I heard a runner gasp. I suddenly realized I had a puncture in my tire. There was no way to make it to Logan on time.

I called Tauni to see if she could pick me up. She was a good three miles from our car, and was waiting with Annie Hedberg to meet Trish and Tasha Bell to run with them to the finish. She wasn't anxious to come get me, and in fact it would have taken her nearly as long to walk to the car and drive to meet me as it would take me to walk into Logan. Fortunately, I had planned to meet a contractor, Bruce Anderson, to talk about our plan for a house in Tanzania. I called him. He picked me up about two miles from the center of Logan, dropped my bike off with Mark Wimmer for repair at Wimmer's Bike Shop, and took me on a tour of his manufacturing plant. Bruce was interesting and very knowledgeable of the technologies being used for third world housing - another one of those amazing people I keep meeting these days. He eventually dropped me off at the finish a short time before Tauni, Annie, Trish and Tasha arrived.

My daughter Nina has been training for the St. George Marathon and had wanted me to join her. After the race Tauni told me I have to go with Nina. This, despite her initial reluctance for me to go. After a couple hours at the finish, she remembered what a big deal these events are. As I told Bruce, being around the finish of a marathon is a bigger thrill than any college football game could be.

I didn't find Kristin, but connected with her by text. She finished in 3:23, a great time but even more remarkable for her not having previously run farther than 13 miles. Before the race I told her I thought she could do under 3:25 based on what I observed of her level of fitness and her recent 1:32 half marathon. The only unknown was her lack of long runs. She proved she is not only a great athlete but very tough.

It was a day of triumph. We are all athletes. We need only train and enter the arena to unlock our potential.

Week 6 - Mari gets engaged and Marci appears

2010-09-19T13:28:00.000-07:00

I completed most of Monday's workout, then showered at the gym and drove straight to the airport for my flight to San Diego. That morning Marci Lock appeared for the first time at one of our workouts. She provided an interesting contrast to our other two lead trainers.

Erin appears somewhat stern, barking directions in what I imagine might have been the manner of an East German coach before what the Germans call the "Wendung," (the reunification of East and West Germany). She appears to move through exercises effortlessly with a dancer's flexibility and grace.

Kristin is a natural athlete. She moves with the efficiency of a world-class distance runner, and does so while offering us warm-haerted encouragement. She had been training for the Top of Utah Marathon and it has been fun for me to track her progress and offer encouragement.

Both Erin and Kristin have such obvious athletic gifts it is hard to imagine that any of us could attain their fitness level. On the other hand, when Marci works out, she is everyman (or everywoman). She exhorts and shouts encouragement, while at the same time showing strain and intense exertion as she exercises. She seems to be taking pleasure in the pain of pushing her muscles to level 10, their limits, and in so doing tells me she is one with us in pushing through what we incorrectly assume to be our physical barriers. I was pleasantly surprised at how much her appearance motivated me.

In San Diego, I spent most of the day with one of our fire victim clients, but also arranged to meet Van Tengberg, father of Mari's soon-to-be fiance, for lunch. We had a slight hiccup, as he assumed I would be downtown and I assumed he would be at his Del Mar office. He graciously agreed to meet me at a restaurant in the Del Mar Marriott a bit later than we had planned.

Van was extraordinarily kind and generous, complementary of Mari and appreciative of any help we have provided to Blake. He made a point of showing me an email Blake had written his constitutional law professor who had harshly criticized Mormons, after singling out the Mormons in class, for the Church's advocacy of Proposition 8 and hateful conduct toward gays generally. In the email, Blake stated that Mormons do not hate gays, but consider marriage between a man and woman fundamental for sacred, and for that reason opposed Proposition 8. His professor replied with an almost contrite response, and ultimately gave Blake an A in the class. Van wanted me to know of Blake's character, of which I already had a pretty clear picture.

At the conclusion of lunch Van asked if I had a place to stay for the night. I had a reservation at the Marriott but nonetheless sheepishly accepted his invitation to spend the night in their guest house. I didn't want Van to feel any need to provide accommodations for me, but on the other hand was anxious to spend a bit more time getting to know him and his wife, Sharon, whose family I expected Mari would soon join.

Mari and Brandt had already stayed at their house for a weekend, and Brandt told us it was like the O.C., the late prime time soap opera. The pool house, where I stayed, could in fact be favorably compared to a room in a five star hotel. Van's legal specialty is golf course development, and his love of golf is evident through the pool house, which was replete with golf statuary and books.

After settling in, I returned to the main house where I chatted with Van and Sharon for a couple hours. Youngest son Brady appeared during our visit, shirtless and sweaty from a run. He disappeared and then reappeared to announce his disgust with the Chargers' inability to move the ball on a critical drive inside the opponent's 10-yard line, which I totally get, though I try really hard to avoid caring enough about any football team to get very wound up about whether or not they can move the ball in- or outside the 10-yard line, generally not succeeding in that effort.

What I remember most from the evening with Van and Sharon is their almost tangibly evident love and concern for Blake. Last year was tough for him, recovering from a broken engagement and struggling to do well his first year of law school while living at home and feeling quite lonely. They expressed great fondness for Mari and thanked me more than once for raising her. For me, the experience of hearing and observing their expressions of intense love and concern passed beyond mere emotion into the spiritual realm.

Two days later Blake called Tauni and asked if he could arrange a time on Thursday to meet us briefly. We agreed to meet him late Thursday afternoon in my office. He told us he deeply loves Mari. He told of his plans to ask her to marry him the next day. He said he would always protect and care for her. We shared our own feelings. Again, the experience was very spiritual for me and left me with feelings of joy and contentment.

The next day he took Mari to the Tree Room at Sundance for dinner, and then drove her to an open area on the Alpine Loop, which is ablaze with fall color. His sister, Shardae, was waiting in the weeds with still and video cameras, to record the entire event.

And here is the proposal:

Mari called us immediately afterward, the beginning of an evening of notifying friends and relatives of the engagement. I don't know that I have ever seen a couple quite so smitten or that seemed so well suited for each other. Quite a contrast to my proposal, where the words, "will you marry me?" spilled out of my mouth without premeditation and afterward I was uncertain whether I had done the right thing. Fortunately, it has turned out right for me, and I have great expectations for Mari and Blake.

Otherwise, the week ended with five hard workouts, including a 5-mile run-walk in the Tengberg's neighborhood in Poway. Strange that Mari should find a boy from north San Diego County, where in my professional life I have spent most of my time the past three years trying to help people recover for the devastating losses they suffered in the 2007 San Diego wildfires. At the top of a hill near the Tengberg's house I could see out over the valley to the north where the effects of the fires remain evident. Most vegetation has not come back, and the hills near Poway look like moonscapes. Sharon told me they had prepared to take in refuges from Ramona. Then at 4AM one morning they received a reverse 911 call advising them to evacuate immediately. They managed to gather a few of their cherished possessions and left, expecting their house to be burned to the ground when they returned. Their house was spared; many others in their neighborhood were not so fortunate.

The Poway run was my first effort to test whether my injured right knee and hip could handle a distance longer than a few hundred yards. The jury is still out on that question. Both hip and knee were very sore the rest of the day, but felt much better in the morning. At the moment my inclination is to simply gut my way through the Ragnar Tennessee, even if running can't be part of my regular routine. Tauni is worried that doing so might cause injury that could undo all my hard work. That worry is not lost on me, but at the moment I think I can do it.

Friday morning Marci connected with me by telephone for personal one-on-one coaching. She commented that her observation of my energy is that I am am oracle or a healer. I have no idea what either of those mean, but both sound good. She probed for quite awhile about whether I maintain distance because I am confident or because I am reluctant to approach people. I thought perhaps a bit of both but more because I make a plan and then am quite focused on working through it. She managed to get me to admit that I tend to grade myself harshly, which can lead to the conclusion that I am not good enough and perhaps have a fear of failure. I told her that one of our family values is that it matters more who you are than what you are. We value authenticity. Marci finally asked how I am doing with affirmations. I told her that what I have are few and simple because they need to be something I can believe in and practice. For example, "I am an athlete." She encouraged me to spend more time on internal representations and change them to affirmations. On the one hand, this all makes me think of the obnoxious cousin in the movie "Barcelona," who is reciting the affirmation, "on every day and in every way I am becoming a better Lieutenant Junior Grade," when he is shot. On the other hand, I firmly believe the proverb that what I man thinketh in his heart, so is he. And so it is that Marci is really trying to cause us to put into practice the wisdom of the ages. I am forming and putting into practice my own affirmations, e.g., I will be an influence for good, I am at peace, I am thankful for all the goodness in my life, I will give my best in all that I undertake, I will show unconditional love, and last but not least, I am an athlete.

Last on this post, Monday evening, before heading to the Tengberg's house, I had dinner with Dave Alberga, CEO of Active and a good friend of Dan's. He wanted to meet me, evidently, mainly to learn about our Tanzania housing project because of his interest in economic development in Africa. I told him our story and am eager to introduce him to Wil. We also discussed the state of Ragnar. He was extremely complementary of Dan, acknowledging his talent but more importantly emphasizing Dan's good heart. Dave is obviously highly intelligent and also enthusiastic and charismatic. Later in the week I invited him to join us in Africa in December. He declined due to schedule, but said he would love to go. Maybe someday. He would be a good person to be part of our team. I feel fortunate that I continue to meet people who are making a difference for good in my life.

Weekend 5

2010-09-11T20:58:00.000-07:00

The 90 days are racing by. I am about 15 pounds from my goal weight, strongly motivated to make it and then run the Ragnar Tennessee.

Friday's workout included 2 X 50 reps of knee thrusts with each leg, foot attached to cable weight. Quite fun actually, and I could well imagine how this exercise would strengthen legs for cycling, or kicking a football. Between sets we did a lot of high intensity exercises that involved jumping and high knee lifts; it amazes me that I can do either.

The day's plan called for 5 short sprints with jogging recovery intervals. I did 6. I am also amazed that I can still run fast (fast being relative). I did some abs and then decided to do one last sprint for the road. Turned out to be one too many; I felt something pop in the right groin region. Nothing serious, probably a mild strain, but still scary.

Friday evening Tauni and I went to Rob Reiner's new movie, "Flipped," which had me on the brink of tears throughout as it told the story of a teenage romance, alternating between his and her points of view. The period setting was late 50s and early 60s, exactly the time when I was the age of the characters in the film. The film eventually became the story of two families, and in particular showed how in that pre-feminist age the decisions of husbands channeled the lives of wives and children. It captured well the pain I remember well of my first feeble attempts at romance, and especially the difficulty of learning to honestly communicate feelings. It is a fine film, one that both Tauni and I have already recommended to several friends.

Before the film Dan called and asked if I would be interested in watching Wasatch 100 runners come through one of the aid stations. Turned out he had plans to hang out at the Bigwater station in Mill Creek Canyon until he could find a runner to pace to Brighton. I agreed.

He and I both drove to Brighton, where he dropped off his car. We arrived at Brighton around 11PM, where already a few runners were coming through. We made our way to the Brighton store, which was the check in point and aid station for runners. Dan's movements were quick, smooth, electric. He told me he felt like a kid on Christmas morning, so excited was he.

Just inside the Brighton store entrance was a table manned by two burly, bearded guys who apparently had the task of checking in runners and keeping everyone else out. They let Dan pass because he announced he was a pacer; they barred me from entering until I asked whether I would have to pee in the parking lot. This seemed to concern them enough that they let me use the men's room. The scene behind the two guards resembled the bar scene in Star Wars, the runners having hushed voices, angular bodies and expressionless faces, adorned only with gear and clothes essential to surviving cold nighttime temperatures and extreme physical exertion.

I gave Dan a ride from Brighton to Bigwater. As we passed the trail from Bareass Pass and drove through the upper part of the canyon my mind filled with memories of pacing my former law partner Bob "Mad Dog" Henderson nearly 20 years ago. Bob loved the race and probably finished it 15 times or more. At age 64 he was training for this year's event when he became ill with the degenerative brain disease that took his life just a few weeks ago. The year I paced Bob he trained and then ran with a friend the entire race. It was far from his fastest time, but he showed me something of friendship in guiding his friend through the ordeal. Bob's early demise reminds me both to be grateful for every day, and to rage against physical and mental decline. I am determined to continue to strive and to improve.

As we approached Bigwater we saw the headlamps of a number of runners, who at this point were all walking. I noted one with short, quick steps, using long ski poles. Most appeared to be accompanied by pacers, but several were not. The temperature at Bigwater was 34 degrees. I was surprised to see my breath. The volunteers were dressed as though for winter in Alaska -- heavy down parkas, stocking caps, gloves and beards. Dan was dressed in shorts and leggings, but only a t-shirt and light jacket. I happened to bring two light fleece pullovers, which Dan added as additional layers.

Not long after our arrival the ski-poler checked in, and Dan offered to pace him. He gratefully accepted, after warning Dan that he probably would not say more than two words between Bigwater and Brighton. Dan accepted his condition, offering to talk if helpful but remain silent if not. I don't know how that turned out yet. I departed at about 1230am after extracting Dan's promise to call me as soon as he reached Brighton. Dan called around 6am Saturday morning, advising that he arrived safely and that he would tell me stories later.

I finally went to bed around 230am, got up around 715am and headed to the gym for my Saturday morning workout. I saw several of my group members doing sprints and the like. I was still so sore from Friday I decided to do a low impact combo of stationary bike and elliptical.

I met Parky and Neil Dimick around noon at Valley View. We decided to walk and play 9 holes. The day could not have been more perfect, maybe 75 or 80 degrees, no wind, and a cloudless sky. I hit the ball well all day, and shot 45, one of the best rounds of my life. If I had made a couple puts I would have matched my best score ever. No doubt part of the reason I shot so well is that I am stronger than ever, so fatigue never become a factor and my swing was more consistent than usual. Parky told me I owe it to myself to get serious about the game and play more often. It has been years since I played Valley View; it is a wonderful public course with beautiful views and an interesting mountain goat layout.

I had so much fun playing today that I believe Parky just might be right. As he often is. Surprisingly.

Week 5

2010-09-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

It appears that Prednizone was not the magic cure to my back woes. Having given it up cold turkey, my back soreness suddenly disappeared following my Monday workout on the stationary bike and elliptical. Also, the range of motion in my right hip has significantly increased and any hip pain has disappeared completely. Seems that exercise is the best cure to an aching body.

Our coaching session this morning was devoted to discussion of turning negative emotions into positives. We went around the room and many of the women, most in tears, described their experiences in doing just that. At the end of class, Meg, who has become a good friend, asked how I was handling all the girl talk. My first thought was that it helps my marriage.

My life experience has taught that we are all in this together, so to speak, in that life eventually throws problems at everyone, and the problems we all face ultimately have to do with life and death. It is interesting and actually inspiring to hear people express how they deal with life's challenges.

Fortunately, this is a truly golden time in my life. I feel blessed in every material way. But at the same time I think there is a hard truth in Norman Maclean's line, describing his feeling following a glorious day of fishing with his father and brother: "But I knew that life is not a work of art, and that the moment could not last." I have begun to learn, better than I ever have, to savor every moment, certainly every good moment. They all are precious, and they are all transitory.

Weekend 4

2010-09-06T10:57:00.000-07:00

I thought that we would be flying off to Memphis at 5:45pm Thursday evening. When I checked in Thursday morning I discovered that our arrival time was 5:45 and that we were to depart at 1:45. It was good that we would have an evening in Memphis but we were going to have to hustle. We managed to pull things together quickly and made it to the airport with time to spare. I called Wil before departure, who told me to call when we arrived so we could meet for dinner.

After checking into our hotel, Tauni and I walked the few blocks to Beale Street, which, famous as it still is, seems as though it must have had better days. Live music poured out of a number of clubs along the street, and there were even a couple of bands playing on the sidewalk. I checked out the members of one of the sidewalk bands, most looking as though, whatever their ages, they had accumulated a lot of miles. To appreciate Beale Street I would have to visit with my friend Art Richards, who has spent his adult life studying the history of the blues and rock and roll. Without Art's guidance, we made short work of it.

We met Wil promptly at 8pm at a restaurant called McEwen's. We were joined by a two women from New York - one, Charlotte Seeley (I think), was described as the foremost feminist literary agent in the country. The other, whose name I never caught, is a producer for Sesame Street. We also were joined by publisher from Memphis, whose current project is a book about Chattanooga, Tennessee, describing its environmental revival, and Mark Hurley, currently of Chicago, who explained that he was nine months into a two year sabbatical from JP Morgan.

Charlotte turned out to be the connection between all these people. She and Wil met when Wil was 17 and living alone in New York while attending Brandeis High School, whose students were virtually all black and Hispanic. By this time Wil had already been arrested 3 times for his participation in civil rights marches. Charlotte and two other white women were running a draft counseling center. Wil walked in and explained to Charlotte that there was no way she and her two colleagues could connect with the young blacks and Hispanics in the neighborhood. So Wil took over the counseling center. That lead to a lifelong friendship. Mark met Wil through Charlotte, who introduced Wil to him as someone with a remarkable life story. The publisher was Mark's first employer, and the producer a good friend of Charlotte's.

Wil told us that, back then, he hated white people and either sympathized with or was a member of the Black Panthers. Things have changed, as evidenced by the fact that Wil sponsored my friend Jim Parkinson as the first white member of the 100 Black Men of Columbus, Mississippi.

Toward the end of the evening Wil made some comment about Tauni and I being Mormons. He allowed as how he didn't believe in the religion but she he was a cultural Mormon in that he fully embraced the moral teachings of the church. Charlotte then announced that she is an atheist, looking at me in a way that seemed to require some response. I told her I had no problem with that, to which she said that I must be very tolerant. I said that if she could put up with me I certainly could put up with her. I am not sure that she smiled, thought she seemed to accept our differences.

That dinner, in a microcosm, exemplified what I would observe over and over throughout the weekend -- that Wil has been passionately and effectively involved in a variety of causes throughout his life and had accumulated a wide variety of accomplished friends. He announced at dinner that he is a social liberal and an economic libertarian, which he said means he has no political home (with which Mark agreed). That probably explains why Wil has close friends at both ends of the political spectrum, though he still claims to be a Republican. He also seems to have a number of people who consider him their best friend, and whose children he describes as members of his own family.

The next morning we got up early and took a cab to the train station where we were to board the City of New Orleans for a trip to New Orleans. The train was over an hour late in arriving, so we had breakfast at a diner across the street from the station. We shared an order of sweet potato pancakes, which were amazing. There was a lot of memorabilia in the diner, indicating it has long been a popular spot in Memphis and a frequent movie location.

I thought the trip to New Orleans might take five hours; it took over nine. The sights included a number of run down towns, lots of flat grassy fields, and a few cotton fields. Jackson was an exception to the third world appearance of the countryside.

There was a wide variety of Wil's friends and family on the train. Most slept till be reached Jackson. After that the excitement built and things got livelier the closer we came to New Orleans. In Jackson a group of girls from Tupalo boarded and went straight to the dining car, where Tauni and I happened to be. They all had long, straight bleached hair and wore sleeveless dresses. They were whooping, dancing and drinking to the point that we thought they might pass out before they made it to New Orleans. I returned to our car and told Wil about them, whereupon he took off for the dining car.

As we drew near Wil's young friend Simeon started playing "When the Saints Go Marching In" on the sax and we all sang along. The Gulf of Mexico came into view and I was relieved to see no sign of oil, nor any sign of oil in the bayous, the first I had ever seen. We arrived two hours late in New Orleans and went straight to our hotel. Tauni and I walked several blocks from the hotel, which was in the Warehouse District, to the French Quarter and Bourbon Street. After three blocks she had seen enough. She saw a line of people wating at the Acme Oyster House, which she took as a good sign, so we decided to have dinner there. After a wait of about a half hour we were seated at the bar, where we were treated to tradition New Orleans food - gumbo, jambalaya, red beans, sausage, crawfish tails. We returned to the hotel after dinner, where we noticed an Italian clothing store still open. I tried on a few suits, which I thought were beautiful and inexpensive. I had been planning to wait until I finished the program to buy a new suit, but these were so nice that I thought I would make an exception. Too tired to make a decision, we went to bed. But I came back the next day and bought three. A bit excessive, but the price was less than I had planned to pay for one suit.

Saturday morning we got up early and walked to Jackson Square, where after making a couple laps around the French Quarter we eventually returned for breakfast. I had Creole eggs, which consisted of poached eggs in Creole sauce, and they were marvelous. We spent much of the remainder of the day walking. Tauni commented more than once that she would never want to live in New Orleans or raise a family there. It is rather a moot point, since we never will, but I cannot but appreciate how much the city has revived from the Katrina disaster. New Orleans is a blend of cultures - particularly African American, Cajun/French and Spanish, the likes of which is found nowhere else in the world. The city offers sex, alcohol, food and music in abundance. It seems a monument to the pleasures of the moment.

Saturday evening we finally celebrated Wil's January birthday first with dinner and then at a roast, where his twin sons and daughter took the lead. His beautiful and lively daughter Niani (who reminded me of Nina with her every ready smile and vigilant attention to her two children) began by placing a crown on Wil's head. His son Scott then lead the roast talking about how they always knew Wil grew up poor but that as time went on his childhood became more and more impoverished. Sadly, I can't recall all the examples of Wil's poverty (e.g., his dad rented him out to a sharecropper, he walked 3 miles every day to and from school ... in the snow ... in Mississippi) but Scott had the audience, including Wil and Tauni, nearly doubled over with laughter. He then talked about Wil's political beliefs ("lower taxes"), and his thriftiness, particularly in buying clothes. Andrew continued, followed by Wil's brother Roland, who made a show of weeping over their childhood poverty. Other friends joined in until a couple friends spoke of Wil more seriously. One, a young black lawyer from Atlanta, talked of Wil's integrity. Finally Charlotte, who Wil has known longer than anyone else there present, told the story of the young man alone in New York who took over the draft counseling center. There was also mention of George, an old law professor at Ole Miss, whose daughter Wil treated as his own.

Wil was warm and high-spirited throughout the weekend. The love of his family and friends was obvious. I am not sure how exactly to process it all. Except to say it is obvious Wil has lived with passion and integrity, and made a difference in the lives of many people.

As for Tauni and me, it was good to be together. We spent a lot of time walking, and I think she enjoyed the sights and the company. Unfortunately, I came down with a severe cold that got worse as the weekend wore on. By the time we got home I sick enough that Tauni suggested I stay home rather than join Nina and Kyle and the boys at the cabin. That was undoubtedly a good decision for Nina's family and good for me, as I managed to sleep nearly ten hours and feel much better this morning. I even managed a workout on an exercise bike and elliptical. My back was very sore this morning but felt a lot better after working out. Odd that through this process my knee feels better and better but my back has been the limiting factor. I don't know what that tells me but it does cause me to regulate what I do.

Week 4

2010-09-02T20:59:00.000-07:00

My official workouts this week ended a couple days early. It is Thursday afternoon and Tauni and I currently are on an airplane en route to Memphis. Tomorrow we ride the train they call the City of New Orleans to New Orleans for Wil Colom’s 60^th birthday celebration. I have met Wil’s daughter and his wife, Dorothy, as well as his nephew, Carl. I also know a few of his friends, including, of course, Parky, and Derrick and Leticia Johnson. I hope to see New Orleans lawyer Maury Herman on Saturday. Otherwise, I have no idea what to expect, other than perhaps assorted members of the Colom family and of the 100 Black Men of Columbus, Mississippi.

Workouts Monday and Tuesday were tough. Monday was a long, painful lower body workout, and Tuesday and intense series of anaerobic exercises. I flew Tuesday morning to Denver, met that afternoon with my client, Bob Dunlap, and then wandered the 16^th Street Mall in the evening. I have never seen Denver’s downtown area as anything but a rather sterile series of high-rise office buildings, but 16^th Street does have a bit of historic charm, though I wouldn’t go so far as to call it lively.

I stayed at Denver’s downtown Marriott, which turned out to have an excellent fitness center equipped with dumbbells and weight machines. I took the 90-Day training plan for Wednesday with me, which called for a series of bicep, tricep and shoulder exercises. Shortly after I started working out, a guy about 6’6”, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Gaston, walked in. Veins popped from his biceps, which were roughly the diameter of my thighs, only vastly firmer. It was mildly amusing for me to struggle to do curls with 15 pound dumbbells while Gaston did the same exercise with dumbbells the weight of anvils. My consolation was that he appeared spent after maybe 7 reps, while I struggled through my standard 20 reps and 10 minis. After trashing my arms and shoulders I completed a series of ab exercises.

Following my workout I dressed quickly and headed to the office of Dunlap’s Denver lawyer, Flip Rouse, Esq., who cheerfully greeted me on my arrival. He was nattily attired in a pin striped dress shirt and well-pressed cargo pants, which I took to be a uniquely Colorado twist on business casual. I had to haul two briefcases full of documents, as well as my suitcase, to Flip’s office. I felt so generally weak, and my back so sore, from that week’s workouts that even carrying my smaller briefcase any distance pushed me close to level 10. I didn’t see this as a good sign, but not necessarily a bad one either. I figured I would feel better, but wasn’t sure when. I could only hope that my strained back and other fatigued muscles would come around before Thursday’s workout and, if not then, by the beginning of next week.

Dragging my briefcase around the airport following Dunlap’s deposition didn’t make me optimistic that I would feel better very soon. I arrived home too tired to do much of anything besides cook myself a bowl of oatmeal, and plop myself into the easy chair in my office to watch the DVD of the old 70s movie “Robin and Marian” on my iMac. Sean Connery seemed amused in his Robin Hood role, Richard Harris completely over-the-top and ridiculous as Richard the Lionhearted, and Audrey Hepburn luminous as Marian. About 45 minutes into the movie I recalled that I needed to pick up a prescription before the pharmacy closed. As I headed out the door Tauni asked how I liked the movie. I replied, “They don’t make them like that anymore,” to which we both immediately added, “Fortunately.”

Upon my return from the pharmacy, after I fidgeted through another half hour or so of the movie, my brother Tracy called to give me his take on BYU going independent. He had already written a lengthy comment on the subject on our family website, so he mostly repeated himself. Tracy is brilliant, and I thought his arguments sound, but he has a need to repeat himself and seek reassurance, which I was happy to provide. I like the thought of BYU playing basketball with the Catholics and the good Christians at Pepperdine. Seems like a nice cultural fit. And there is symmetry to BYU beginning a rivalry with Gonzaga, alma mater of Utah Jazz great John Stockton. Also, for BYU’s emerging women’s soccer team, playing against national powers Portland and Santa Clara can only provide a boost. As for football, if the goal is exposure, the ESPN deal assures that. The money doesn’t hurt either. As for the ethics of dumping the MWC, the MWC hasn’t done much for the Cougs lately, and in this supposedly capitalist country chasing a better opportunity seems the quintessentially American.

All of which brings me to this morning. I was expecting a painful and difficult workout, but instead I felt great and managed to work hard without aid of back or knee brace. Part of the recovery was simply the result of a good night’s rest. And perhaps part was a benefit of taking Aleve. The unknown was how much Prednizone, a corticosteroid, contributed to my rapid recovery. A few weeks ago my dermatologist prescribed Prednizone for a rash, and after a day or two of the recommended dosage not only did the rash but also painful canker sores go away. The second week of the program the canker sores recurred. I took 10 mg before bedtime and in the morning not only my mouth but also my back felt better. I attributed the back improvement to sleeping with a brace, but Tauni immediately concluded that the Prednizone had done the trick. It apparently having helped once, I took 10 mg last night and this morning my back was much improved and I otherwise felt strong and lively. I worked out on a stationary bike and elliptical this morning, both of which I am used to doing, but still the sudden absence of bad pain was a surprise. Not only was my back improved but my knee felt better following today’s workout than it has at any time since I injured it seven years ago.

I don’t know whether the Prednizone made the difference. If it did, it is easy to understand why world-class athletes have succumbed to the steroid temptation. The hardest part of training is dealing with injuries and fatigue. Assuming steroids aid recovery, athletes can train harder and become more fit. I have friends who played college football during the steroid era. Pills were freely disseminated ito players in the 70s and 80s. Back then players were incredulous that use of steroids could even be an issue because steroids were such a normal part of their training regimen. I have no intention of seriously juicing up, but I certainly appreciate the relief that my small dose seems to have provided.

There have been two themes to our coaching this week. First, we need to step up our nutrition, and specifically to eat more alkaline and less acidic foods, ideally in a ratio of 80/20. My new friend Ryan Peterson explained that cancer cells simply cannot survive in an alkaline environment. Certainly countries whose diets are high on alkaline foods have lower cancer rates than those whose diets are more acidic, such as, e.g, the US. During the first four weeks of the program my diet has trended toward more alkaline foods and the benefits have been obvious.

Second, we are encouraged to transform our view of who we are. For me, this process is well underway. In the year or so before I began the program, I had concluded with dismay the aging process was both accelerating and irreversible. My joints seemed to be breaking down and my weight steadily increasing. At the Ragnar Wasatch Back I decided to take steps to reverse the trend, first by improving my diet, and second by enrolling in the program. I have lost nearly 20 pounds since the Wasatch Back, more than half since I began the program. My knees and hips feel better, and, to my surprise, I have discovered that I can still jump and run fast. I feel a good 10 years younger, and again see myself as an athlete. In addition, I have been calmer, more confident and more at peace than I can remember. I am eager to start the day, and find it easy to get up early. My goal of running the Ragnar Tennessee seems increasingly possible, something I had thought I could never do. It has even been easy to overcome what I thought were my addictions, Coke Zero and sugar. I have mostly eliminated sugar from my diet (it is an ingredient in so many foods that eliminating it completely is, well, nearly impossible). I have cut out Coke completely. My concept of self and what I can do has changed.

May the transformation continue.

Weekend 3

2010-08-30T10:46:00.000-07:00

After my visit to Dr. Christensen Friday morning I launched into what turned out to be an insanely busy weekend. Not as much rest as I had hoped but an interesting 2+ days.

At the invitation of Jim Parkinson, Friday evening Tauni and I had dinner at Ruth's Chris in Salt Lakewith a very distinguished group, including Parky and wife Sue, the Ambassador from Senegal to the US, Senator Orrin and Elaine Hatch, Waterford Institute Founder Dusty Hueston and his wife, Chair of the Missisippi Chapter of the NAACP Derrick Johnson and wife Leticia, Parky's son Brett and wife, Calfornia Court of Appeals Justice Doug Miller, and Jim's brother Tommy aka Dr. Brett Parkinson.

In his inimitable way, Parky directed us all where to sit. Thankfully, Tauni and I sat at the end of the table with Parky and Sue, Doug and Tommy. Tauni actually sat next to the Ambassador, who looked like she had been to at least one too many dinners and flown on too many airplanes during the past few days. Parky placed her directly across the table from the Hatches.

Tommy showed up after we were all seated. My first reaction was, "Who's the gay guy?" He could hardly look less like Parky, several inches shorter, dozens of pounds lighter (i.e, very fit vs. well padded), and a few notches more manic. It was like a TV sitcom character dropped in, a cross between Frazier and Niles. Once he had his bearings, he quickly monopolized the conversation, leaving even Parky relatively speechless. With gusto he covered topics ranging from gay marriage to exercise.

As pertains to the 90-Day program, the notable thing about the dinner was the task of finding something to fit within our nutrition parameters. I selected the wild Alaskan salmon, broccoli, sweet potato and tomato salad - all, I thought, reasonable choices. As Tauni pointed out, however, the sweet potato was more of a desert than a vegetable, liberally sprinkled with brown sugar and blended with butter or something else high in fat. I managed only small taste, however, so no harm.

On the subject of exercise, Tommy expounded at length about how we are not 21 anymore. He gave up running at age 40 and now does weight lifting and elliptical training on alternate days. He cautioned me about overdoing it, and then proceeded to order the banana cream desert. It turned out to be massive, literally about 8 inches in diameter. It was glazed with glazed with some sort of sugar topping and conservatively had to be at least 1200 calories, maybe as much as 1500 calories. I didn't even dare hazard a taste.

For the record, Tommy is not gay. He has a wife and four kids, about whom he provided a lot of information. Tommy is a radiologist, and specializes in mammography. Parky says he is brilliant (no doubt), and probably is the best in the world at his specialty. Throughout dinner as medical topics came up Tommy repeatedly declined to comment, explaining that the subject was outside his area of expertise. After dinner Tauni told me she loved Tommy and wants to have him give her a mammogram. (Jim arranged for him to give a mammogram to the Ambassador on Friday morning.) He clearly has a way with women

After desert Tommy drifted off and cornered Senator Hatch, who could be seen nodding solemnly while Tommy talked animatedly.

Before dinner there was a shooting at the Grand America Hotel, where the Ambassador and the Johnsons stayed. Leticia told me she saw a body lying on the ground from her window. Turns out is was a deranged Iraq vet, who was armed to the teeth, apparently intending to bag a police officer. Nice introduction to Salt Lake City.

After dinner Friday we drove the Derrick and Leticia to our cabin in Liberty. It was 10pm or thereabouts when we arrived and we were all tired so went right to bed. Tauni made Amish outmeal for breakfast. We had promised the Johnsons a hike with a view so took off after breakfast on the trail to the North Ogden Divide. Leticia was struggling with the altitude and stopping every few hundred feet it seemed. We ran into some hikers coming down the trail who said there were some folks on skittish horses further up the trail. A few minutes later a riderless horse, complete with saddle and bridle, came running down the trail toward us. Leticia had asked for a complete rundown on dangerous animals on our drive to the cabin the night before. We hadn't thought about runaway horses. She was prepared for cougars but a runaway horse clearly startled her. Fortunately, the horse stopped just before he reached Tauni and me. We approached him carefully. Tauni grabbed his reins and then ordered me to run up the trail to find his rider.

I took off, and to my pleasant surprise found my knee sound and the running easy. I hadn't gone more than about a quarter mile before I saw two women on horses coming my way, with a man walking in from of them. Turned out the runaway horse was his and was indeed skittish. He told us he got off to calm the horse down and it promptly ran off. He was relieved that to hear that we had found his horse and had him under control. That definitely goes down as my first capture of a spooked, riderless horse. From the 90-Day perspective, it was nice to find that running felt OK, even though I didn't go very far.

Following the hike we drove up to Snow Basin for lunch, where a mountain bike race was underway. After that I dropped off Tauni at home and Derrick and Leticia at the airport, and drove to Provo for a meeting with the Ambassador and the Rhino boys, who we have been negotiating with seemingly forever on the manufacture of houses for Tanzania. After the Ambassador left they told me they had a great plan for a house with steep pitched roof that they think would be perfect for the US market. They assured me they would still build houses in Tanzania but don't want to. I asked why and their answer reminded me of my namesake Harold Hill, "Wherever the people are as green as the money." Nothing like a vote of confidence. Imagine relying on a contractor 12,000 miles from home who doesn't want to be there but is willing to cash your check.

From the Rhino meeting I drove back to Sandy for dinner with Mari and the mother of her increasingly serious boyfriend at Mimi's. In contract to the Rhino boys, the mama definitely wanted to be there and was effusive about how much she loves Mari. We all (Tauni, Nina and I) thought she was great, a wonderful in-law if the relationship progresses that far.

I weighed in (sorry Erin) at 193 on Saturday, the lowest yet, and 18 pounds down from my all-time-fat high (ATFH) just before the Wasatch Back. I think that represents a loss of approximately 10 pounds in the three weeks since the 90-day program began. More significantly, I am finding that most of my pants have considerable slack around the waist, which measured 2 inches less than it did three weeks ago. Not bad, but the eating out is making the nutrition plan more difficult to follow.

After teaching Sunday School the next morning we drove again to Provo, this time for my nephew's non-farewell missionary farewell. The highlights included my brother-in-law singing "How Beautiful Upon the Mountains" at double fortissimo and a lunch layout that included the biggest brownie spread I have ever seen. I did great for about two hours but eventually the chicken salad became a temptation I could not resist. After 4 or 5 crackers covered with said salad we finally escaped for Spanish Fork with grandson Max to celebrate grandson Griffin's 4th birthday. More chicken here, but I at least avoided the birthday cake and ice cream.

We finally made it home about 9:30, wheere I collapsed into bed. The weekend included three restaurant meals, a large buffet and a birthday party. Thankfully I avoided desserts and most of the starchy items. I also managed to avoid further back strain and felt decent this morning. The knee is great but the back, following Tommy's admonition, is going to need continued tender loving care.

Week 3

2010-08-27T09:09:00.001-07:00

I just finished the third week of workouts this morning. The first thing I did after working out (following a short visit to the Ragnar offices) was stop by Dr. Christensen's office for an adjustment. He determined, as I suspected, that a lumbar disk had again become misaligned and that my lower back is strained. After pummeling me for a few minutes he pronounced my spine in order, gave me instructions on a few stretching exercises, and prescribed a couple days of rest to give my back a chance to heal.

Of all things, I certainly did not imagine that my lower back would be a problem. It never has been before, but then I have never done so many lunges and squats before either. Dr. Christensen assures me it will heal, and the good news, I think, is that there appears to be no sign of disk injury.

It is hard to measure results incrementally, but a few thoughts emerge from the past week. First, I still get a lift from working out and getting up early. Nothing like starting the day happy.

Second, we are not supposed to get on the scales, but of course I do. The reason for the recommendation is evident. Day to day weight fluctuates considerably. Since I started, there have been two days where there suddenly is a four pound drop. Other days weight bounces around. This morning I was actually up about 2 pounds from yesterday. But the good news is I was able to comfortably fit into pants this morning that I could not get into two weeks ago.

Third, I am getting to know members of our group better, and enjoying them a lot. As with relay participation, there is nothing quite like pushing to physical limits together to bond people.

Fourth, is is pretty obvious which muscles are relatively strong and which are not. A partial inventory:

Shoulders - weak

Lats - strong

Upper abs - not bad

Lower abs - didn't know I had any; not so strong

Quads - strong

Hams - strong

Gluts - incredibly strong

Calves - good enough

Ankles and feet - week

That all said, I have to keep reminding myself to repeat as I get near exhaustion of some muscles: "I am strong." Doing an ab exercise yesterday, I caught myself saying out loud, "My abs are weak." Once I made the catch, I started to repeat in my mind, "I am strong," as I struggled through a few more reps. It did make a difference, demonstrating the importance of a cheering section, even if is is only in you mind. This is a time when schitzophrenia could be helpful; a cheerful imaginary friend might provide quite a lift. Short of that, affirmations and encouragement from trainers definitely helps get through the last difficult reps.

Our trainer Kristin runs the Top of Utah half marathon tomorrow. She looks fit and fast to me, so I am expecting she will post a very good time. When I mentioned the race to her this morning, she told me her mother at age 59 qualified for the Boston Marathon with a qualifying time of 4:06. I would be very happy with that performance.

I am looking forward to some recovery time this weekend and to feeling much stronger next week.

Week 2

2010-08-25T21:25:00.000-07:00

The day I began the program I was greeted with the news that my dad, who recently broke his right arm just below the shoulder, fell and broke his hip. This was definitely very bad news, and I think the whole family thought this could well be the end of the road for him. I wasn't able to visit him till late in the week and that visit only confirmed my early impression that the outcome looked bad. He was disoriented and struggled to focus his mind. The effort appeared so intense that it almost made me weep. With his accountant brain the one thing he tried to manage was his intake of medication, and while I was there he seemed quite agitated that his cardiologist (who, by the way, is a wonderful doctor and human being) wasn't certain of what he had prescribed.

Beyond his considerable efforts to keep track of the pills he had swallowed, the only other subject Dad raised was whether Jake Heaps would start at QB for BYU. This, mind you, when Dad was of the frame of mind that his time was very short, like maybe a few days. Focused on survival, his only distraction was thoughts of the direction of a college football team.

On Sunday afternoon, about 9 days after my first visit, Tauni and I showed up in the Rehab Unit to visit Dad and see with our own eyes how he was doing. The transformation seemed nothing short of a miracle. He was dressed, seated in a wheelchair, seemingly without pain, and smiling. Still not up for a lot of conversation, but totally alert and, with his relentless focus, daily measuring his progress and making plans to return home.

Not to overlook my sisters, but my brothers are both saints. Doctor brother Tracy, who has an extraordinarily demanding and stressful job tending ICU patients, has been on call for family afflictions seemingly forever. And he has heroically managed Dad's admissions for his multiple fractures and assorted surgeries. He has been willing to call in prescriptions day or night and has consulted with us all endlessly.

Though Dad's improvement has been remarkable, it was evident by the end of his first week of rehab that upon discharge he would be nowhere near normal strength and that he and Mom could not manage without live in care. Another fall would be a disaster. On my first visit, when I asked what I could do to help, Dad asked that I pray that he never fall again.

So into this situation comes Ron, who happened to be visiting from his home in Vancouver, WA, with wife Karen at the time of Dad's fall. Because of Dad's frail condition Ron and Karen stuck around for over a week longer than planned. On Friday evening, about 11 days after Dad's fall, Ron told me went to bed with a prayer that he could find a solution for Dad's care needs. He woke the next morning with his answer. He would do it. He asked Karen if she agreed. She did.

Later that day Ron told Tracy, Mom and Dad of his decision. They all burst into tears, overjoyed. Ron and Karen plan to move into Mom's and Dad's basement around the first of October and remain up to a year, though they hope to be able to return to their home in the spring.

The whole family is thrilled. Ron is wonderful with Dad, and is in his way a remarkably kind and effective caregiver. Personally, I not only am thankful that Ron and Karen will be there to care for Mom and Dad but also that his presence here will allow us to spend more time together. Seems as thought we've gotten closer than ever, and it is a joy to be around him.

These events overshadow anything that took place during my personal workouts and diet last week. I finished the week feeling sore and injured but surprisingly Monday morning felt strong and healed. At weigh in I was told I had released 10 pounds during my first two weeks. That's probably a bit overstated since the first weigh in was in the evening with clothes and the second in shorts and t-shirt after a morning workout. Still, I probably shed a good 7 pounds, which is a nice start.

Week 1

2010-08-25T10:14:00.001-07:00

My strongest impression from the first week is that having a coach or trainer makes a huge difference. I haven’t had a coach since high school, which means that in virtually everything I have done I have set my own pace and determined my own limits. At times, whether in practicing law or in training for running events, I have worked with and to some degree been paced or motivated by others. But even in those instances I largely determined the degree of effort and, particularly with my running, determined the type and frequency of my workouts.

The 90-Day program departs from this pattern in several important respects. First, our trainers have a set program that focuses on resistance and cardio training on alternate days. In addition, cardio and resistance exercises vary from session to session so that workouts rotate between muscle sets to increase stress on the body and minimize its ability to adapt, thus breaking down and consequently increasing muscle development over more routine programs. This variety departs significantly from my previous training programs.

Second, the goal of the workouts is to push us to what the trainers call Level 10, which is where muscles their limits. There is scarcely a day goes by where I would not have quit at least four or five times if the trainers weren’t pushing us to do more, reminding us constantly of the benefits of exertion.

Third, as part of a group, I find myself both motivated and inspired by the efforts of others. There are two men and eleven women in our group. The other man, Ryan, is young and quite fit. The fitness and athleticism of the women varies considerably. A few have participated in marathons, Ragnars and other running events. Some of the best athletes among the women appear to have become overweight as they age. A couple, including the oldest woman in the group, would probably be classified as obese. Regardless of the women’s fitnesses levels, they all show up before 5:30 AM, are cheerful and supportive, and seem to push to their capacities. When I feel as though I want to stop, especially when doing ab exercises, I see women pushing through the pain and I keep going.

I have a shelf full of books and magazines about diet and exercise. The information I have accumulated is largely repetitive but that the same time overwhelming. The benefits of cross training and rotating exercise between muscle groups are well documented. Similarly, virtue of eating what Michael Pollen calls real “food” in frequent small meals is promoted widely in nutrition literature. Yet to put all this to practice requires significant motivation, planning and study. For me, all of this has over the years proven overwhelming, as evidenced by the slow creep upward of my weight and the steady deterioration of my skeleton, part the result of my tibial plateau fracture and part the result of heredity, advancing age, loss of fitness and weight gain.

This program has provided motivation and eliminated the need for me to plan and sort out all the data. I no longer have to think. I just have to do it.

On about my second or third day Dan showed up at 5:30 AM and told me he wanted to work out with me. I was excited to see him, as were the trainers, who grew to love him when he went through the program. Dan’s impressive results triggered my interest in following him. He encouraged me to do it, and even explained to Tauni why the financial investment made sense. At the end of the workout I told Dan that this was one of the best things I had ever done. The pain and effort must release a flood of endorphins because I end each workout feeling joyous and stress free. Even on the day I had to appear to argue a very difficult motion, I proceeded with unusual equanimity.

Dan had told me before I started that each workout session involved intense pain, and that has mostly proven to be true. Some days are easier than others, but there are times during every workout where I hurt and reach my limit. The paradox of pain is that it is necessary to protect us from injury while at the same time significant fitness cannot be attained without it. The mind must distinguish between the pain that signals injury and the pain that signals growth. We must avoid foolish or needless suffering but suffer we must if we are to approach our potential. My late law partner, Bob “Mad Dog” Henderson, veteran of several Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance runs, used to extol the virtues of pain. I recall him saying: “You work with pain; pain works with you.” Translated, I think Bob meant that we must condition our minds to endure the good pain associated with effective training and in return pain works with us to improve our bodies. No doubt emotional pain is also necessary to improve our souls, though it can also destroy us. Even in that realm, there is good and bad pain, and we must learn to work with it so it can work with us and perfect us.

Saturday was our final workout of week 1. Our schedule showed “community free workout” so I assumed we would simply show up and spend a relatively leisurely hour exercising on our own. Instead, we worked our way through various stations doing a variety of high intensity cardio exercises, including jump roping, which I once could do but now cannot, at least not well. I rode my bike to the gym (8 miles) and planned to ride home. On this day, however, there was an interval of 1 1/2 between our community workout and a Marci Lock presentation on our relationship to food. I decided to spend that time trying to run, which I haven't done much for a number of years.

To minimize impact on my bad knee, at least in theory, I ran on the grass at a park neighboring the gym. Inspired by Marci to engage in high intensity exercise, and recalling that my favorite interval in high school was 330 yards, I paced off a distance of about 300 yards and ran several intervals at 6 minute mile pace. This is the fastest I have run in years. I felt good, if not coordinated yet, until a few hours later when my knees started to ache, not just my bad right knee but my left as well. To top it off the rotator cuff of my right shoulder had become extremely sore and my lower back began to seize up upon bending over.

All of this reminds me both of the distinction between good and bad pain, but at the moment more importantly that doing too much can result in injury that will undo the benefit of a lot of exercise. For my shoulder, I visited Nylin Johnson, a good friend and physical therapist housed in the same building as the gym. He had one of his therapists provide massage and electrical stimulation and then taped my shoulders to pull my out of my naturally hunched position. One of the members of our group, Melodi Christensen, whose chiropractor husband treated me before I started the program, noticed my back seizing up and immediately called her husband following our workout on Monday or Tuesday of week 2. His office called and had me come right over. After an adjustment my back was somewhat improved, but it is still ginger. With the aid of a back brace and avoidances of weighted squats and dead lifts the back is rapidly improving.

And so I concluded week 1 feeling energized but chastened with the recognition that I need to take care to make sure that all the work results in my body being built up rather than torn down.

Day 2

2010-08-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

I have learned that the official name for the my new diet and fitness program is the Marci Lock 90 Day Mind-Body Transformation. Before I started, Dan told me that the first couple weeks were easy. After that, each workout would be an hour of pain.

If our trainers have gone easy on us so far, I can hardly wait to see what comes next. In two days I have experienced a level of pain that recently has been matched only in my chiropractors's office. This morning alone I reached a level of pain where, if Erin and Kristin had not been pushing me, I would have quit at least four times. Of course, the potential humiliation of quitting in front of a roomful of women working out near me was also strong motivation to keep going.

But the results so far have been outstanding. My bum knee already feels better than it has since I broke it seven years ago. I told Kristin this morning that my goal is to run the Ragnar Tennessee on November 6. Yesterday I thought there was a 50% chance I could do it. Today, barring something unforeseen, I am convinced I can do it. If nothing else, the mind part of the program is working. As my brother Ron might say, the brainwashing so far has been very effective.

Today I reached another milestone of sorts. I completed muscle activation therapy with Dr. Josh Christensen. Each time he tests a muscle and it collapses at the push of his little finger I think there must be some trick. Then he works me over for a few minutes, often causing the aforementioned extreme pain. After that, my previously flimsy muscle resists his very firm push. I am convinced the work he has done in reactivating the muscles in my legs (6 muscles/ leg) has caused me to lose my limp and made it possible to feel as good as I do today following the cardio workout.

Regarding my current level of fitness, the biggest surprises so far have been how weak my shoulders and abs are. While doing planks, Erin commented she could hold a plank all day. I collapsed after about 5 seconds. I didn't come close to holding for the 20 seconds she told us to do.

Today we received our food logs and were instructed to record everything we eat, including precise quantities and calorie counts for three weeks. That and swear off sugar and diet drinks. My daily calorie quota is 1870, which till this week has been, for me, a typical lunch.

Sadly, my dad fell yesterday and broke his hip. I called brother Ron after leaving Dr. Christensen's office. Dad is quite disoriented, announces his name and date of birth to everyone who enters his room. This morning he ordered my sister to call me and my brothers and have us come to the hospital and bring him home. At times he thinks he is home.

We'll never know this for sure, but Dad's determination to care for himself and be independent has probably contributed to his loss of independence. Had he been willing to use a wheelchair outside the home, maybe he wouldn't have fallen and broken his arm two weeks ago. If that hadn't happened, maybe he wouldn't have fallen yesterday. I think that among the hardest things in life are to understand that we sometimes need help, to recognize when we need it, and to accept needed help when offered. Reminds me of the sermon of the Reverend Maclean in "River Runs Through It." As that good Reverend said, even if those we know and love won't accept our help, we can still love completely without complete understanding. So it is with Dad. Even though he has refused help I think would have made a difference, we know we have no course but to love completely and to help all we can to ease the burdens of his old age.

Last, I talked to Dan following the workout. Told him Marci has now, for me, become the magical Wizard, the woman behind the curtain. Putting it in different terms, Dan remarked that she has made herself the brand -- which of course is the goal of every smart lawyer.

And with that observation, back to preparation for my summary judgment hearing tomorrow morning.

Everlasting fitness

2010-08-06T06:39:00.000-07:00

It has been three years since my series of posts about the Ragnar Great River. Then we were a very small company - five employees - and the founders were in control. Today there are over 25 employees, I have exited, and Dolphin Capital is in control. Then we had four events and maybe 3000+ participants. Today there are 12 events and over 30,000 participants.

When I started this blog, my plan was to log my impressions, event by event. That obviously did not happen, in part because the company grew so fast it soon became impractical for me, or anyone. to attend all events.

As I mentioned, I exited a year ago when Dolphin assumed total control. For over a year I attended no events - other than Las Vegas, where a runner, Jeremy Kunz, was tragically killed by a drunk driver - for over a year. I returned to observe the 2010 Ragnar Wasatch Back, which has grown from its humble beginning with 22 teams in 2004 to 1050 teams in 2010. It was bittersweet. On the one hand, the growth of the event and the impact it has in Utah is both remarkable and inspiring. On the other, I have many mixed emotions about my own departure and lack of involvement.

That said, the 2010 event motivated me to try to get fit enough to run a Ragnar. Since I broke the tibial plateau of my left knee in 2003, on doctors' advice I have refrained from running. The reasoning is that running will accelerate deterioration of the joint and force an earlier knee replacement. Now I think that, worse case, the knee replacement puts me where I have been the last seven years. Best case, the doctors are full of crap and with training the knee will be better off.

So, following the lead of Dan and Tanner, I have enrolled in a Fit4Life, or Everlasting Fitness (pick your handle), program, developed by Marci Lock. It involves 90 days of intense strength and cardio training, together with diet and mind coaching. The object is to come away both fit and with good habits that will enable me to maintain fitness and healthy eating habits for a lifetime, what little I have left.

My motivations are threefold (at least): (1) to lose the 25 or so pounds of ugly fat I gained during the final stressful stages of the Microsoft case during the late 90s (when I also went through male menopause), (2) to get fit enough to run a Ragnar, and (3) to develop the discipline that will make me more productive in all areas of my life. Re the latter, in of the attractions of this program is that it goes 5 days a week, beginning at 5:30AM. This means I will get started early, and, I hope, be more productive in the office and actually have evenings available for something other than legal work. We shall see.

As part of the process, it is my intention to blog the experience.

Last night was orientation. There are 9 other participants in the program - all women. Erin is our trainer and Kristin our coach. I have no idea yet how their roles differentiate. Both are fit, enthusiastic and beautiful. They told us of the experiences with and belief in the program, and invited testimonials both from previous participants and one participant spouse. They then asked the 10 of us to introduce ourselves and describe our own objectives. Several women were quite emotional and expressed a desire to "take control" of their lives. Others seemed to perhaps have more concrete objectives. No one simply said they want to get rid of ugly fat, and indeed I think we are all seeking something more life-changing than that.

Following our meeting we all were weighed, measured and photographed. I had promised myself I would avoid the classic before and after photos that appear in airline magazines. Despite that, I found myself following instructions to remove my shirt and strike ridiculous pose. Fortunately no one asked me to look at my photo. I do hope that, when done, I will want to see the after photo.

Once released I saw my son Dan, who had come to the gym for his personal workout. He gave me a few pointers on supplements, and assured me that the intense workouts would be both painful and beneficial. He observed that he has seen me do the equivalent of long, slow distance but never anything very intense. That's fair. I have done interval training, but that was a long time ago, back in 1993 before my last marathon.

All in all, I am excited to get going. Can't wait to see what happens

The Finish

2007-08-31T21:42:00.001-07:00

The finish this year was in a park across the river from the Minneapolis skyline. I left Preston somewhere around 5am and arrived there about an hour later. At that time the sky was clear and the air still. This photo captures the view early Saturday morning.

Setting up both start and finish is a huge undertaking, and Tanner has taken the lead in doing both at all of our events. Since Dominique joined us this summer, she has taken responsibility for handling a lot of the detail. She is pictured here in her black Ragnar shirt in front of race headquarters, after we had set up and before runners arrived. Among other things, Dominique arranged for the beer garden and generally eliminates a lot of worries for the rest of us. Besides Dan, the other full-time member of our team is Corissa, who started early this year as an intern while finishing up at the University of Utah. During the race she works with course managers to make sure all exchanges are set up, and that the course is marked properly. Dan follows up to double check course set up, and to deal with bottlenecks or problems during the race, such as, for example, the rerouting necessitated by the aforementioned gunman.

By midday, the finish area was a hive of activity with bands playing, runners eating, drinking and sampling merchandising, and teams arriving at the finish with increasing frequency. This is a shot of the finish area in full swing.

I started the day announcing teams at the finish. The wind gradually picked up, blowing over a couple of our flag banners. The base of the standards should be filled with water, but whoever set them up forgot to fill two of them. A runner temporarily solved the problem by anchoring the standards with rocks. Dan thought that looked pretty tacky so asked me to find a hose and fill the bases with water. I located the hose draped over a retaining wall near the tent showers. Leaning over to pull up the hose I somehow lost my balance and fell at least four feet to the concrete below where a made a perfect three point landing - left hand, forehead and knee. I got up dazed, seeing stars, and a runner came over and escorted me to the first aid tent. There Pat Yoon, an orthopedic surgeon helping out as a volunteer, examined my finger and dressed cuts on my nose, elbow, hand and knee. I learned a few days later that I broke the little finger of my left hand during the fall. So far as I know, this is the worst injury anyone has suffered in any of our events.
Chalk it up to fatigue and old age.

Given that everyone is pretty hammered by the end of the race, one of our challenges has been to create a celebratory party atmosphere at the finish and have a good turnout at the awards ceremony. Besides the beer garden and bands, we served barbeque at the finish most of the day. A lot of runners stuck around, and we even saw many families, spouses and children, joining runners at the finish. This shot is of the overall winner, the crossTrainers, most of whom ran for Martin Luther College. The wives of two members of the team volunteered at the finish, and kept me entertained all morning.

We give personality awards to teams and volunteers who best capture the spirit of the race, based on the votes of race participants. Here again are the WHORs, winners of the Homecoming Award, which is given to the most popular team. As Dan explained, to win the Homecoming Award, teams should do whatever it was that the high school homecoming queen did to win her title.

Finally, here are the Phoenix Runs and Chicks With Kicks And Guys With _____, the final finishers. These teams arrived an hour or so after the awards ceremony, sometime after all other teams had finished. After being on the course well over 34 hours, I would have expected both teams to be tired, irritable and not altogether happy with us or the world. But here, as we have experienced elsewhere, the last teams in seemed as happy, if not happier, than any other finishers. How to explain this? At the least, these teams pulled together through adversity, and experienced the considerable satisfaction of completing a very tough test of endurance. In distance running, however long it takes, finishing the course is a victory.

Hanging Out

2007-08-31T20:48:00.000-07:00

Each van is on the course about half the race. That leaves a lot of time in between to do nothing more than hang out, eat and rest. I took all of the shots in this posting in or around Stockholm, where I spent most of Friday afternoon and evening.

The top photo is on the corner, next to Gelly's pub. Throughout the day and into the evening a lot of runners seemed to gather at this corner. Gelly's was geared up to serve a lot of runners. Up the street is an ice cream parlor and a bakery that serves great sandwiches, soup and desserts. There are a number of shops that I browsed through, although I don't think many runners spent time looking for artwork or antiques.

The next shot is of a lone guy in a sleeping bag in the park near the river. There were groups of runners either sleeping or just laying around and talking in the park. This guy, however, managed to get away from the crowd and I love the contrast between his bright red sleeping bag and the deep greens surrounding him.

By late afternoon Friday it was fairly hot, probably in the low 80s. We set up upheated tent showers in the park, which a number of runners seemed to like. Others, however, cooled off in the river, including, in this photo, some of the WHORs

A couple miles south of Stockholm is a scenic overlook. A number of runners pulled off here to cheer on their teams and to rest. The grove of trees in this photo is at the rest stop, and obviously several runners took advantage of it.

Night

2007-08-26T18:21:00.001-07:00

Pictured here is nightfall on the Mississippi. At night, the character of the race becomes simpler, less frenzied, more focused.

The first time we presented a relay, to my surprise the night terrified me. As a runner in the Hood to Coast I never had a worry. Even though wearing a reflective vest and carrying a flash light is a requirement there, it never occurred to me to be concerned with traffic. In fact, I typically turned out my flashlight and carried it in my waist band. As an organizer, however, feeling responsible for everyone in the race, our first night I was worried sick that a runner would be hit on a blind curve, even though we also insist on lights and vests (for which I now understand the need). Many races later, I have learned that both cars and runners are wary of each other, and we never have had an incident. Besides which, we have learned a lot about traffic control and used cones, occassional lane closures, and course routings that minimuze risk to runners.

For runners, the night has a kind of magic, even though it can be frightening. In Utah, it is a respite from the heat of the day. Even in cooler areas, it is welcome. Hard to explain, but in the absence of light, with fewer sensations, things calm down and the focus is solely on running.

Gelly's, a pub in Stockholm, is directly across the street from Exchange 12. Last year a band played at the park a quarter mile away, and not many runners heard them. This year they played right behind Gelly's, adding to the activity there and drawing customers. I stopped in to get something to drink, found tables full and a line a the bar, decided I could make do with water, and moved on.

I stopped by all of the exchanges between 13 and 18 to make sure volunteers were present and that there were no safety problems. At each exchange I found volunteers happy, doing their jobs, and runners still energized. The body finds an efficient rhythm at night, and it seemed to me most runners were moving fast, running hard. Teams cheered their runners on, honking along the course. The honking, disturbing the usual tranquility of the area, cause one women to call the police several times.

Vendors along the way stayed open late to accommodate runners. One convenience store operator made a point of asking me how long runners would continue to come by, apparently planning to see it through till the last had passed.

I arrived at Preston High School, Exchange 18, around 2AM. We use signs lit by flashing red lights to mark turns. I noted a flasher appeared to be out at one of the last turns just before the exchange. The volunteers at the exchange gave me another flasher to mark the turn. By the time I got back, other volunteers had replaced the bad light. Seeing nothing else to do, and thinking all was calm,
I returned to the high school parking lot and went to sleep.

The next morning I learned that sometime around 1AM a gunman started shooting in Stillwater, near Exchange 30. While the gunman was on the loose, the police cordoned off a large area that included part of the race course. Dan and Keith, one of our course managers, located a new route that bypassed that area, typed up and printed off flyers with course changes and explanation, and delivered them to volunteers to distribute before runners arrived. The course changes added about 3 miles. I heard one runner say she would have preferred to take her chances with the gunman than run the extra distance, but on the whole I think runners were impressed that we were able to react so quickly.

Volunteers

2007-08-26T16:24:00.000-07:00

Loaded up with two generators, I drove to Fountain City, the location of Exchange 6. This is the first major exchange, where Van 1 meets Van 2. Because all teams meet here, this, as other major exchanges, needs to be at a location large enough to accommodate twice as many cars as the usual exchange, and have places for runners to hang out and rest.

At all exchanges, volunteers play the vital role of directing traffic, checking in runners, and trying to keep those cheering on their teams from obstructing traffic and out of danger. The latter is far easier said than done.

Ben Jenson, Dan's brother in law, managed Exchange 6. He is pictured above with his family, all in grey volunteer shirts. The rest of the Jenson family worked Exchange 13 (more on that later). The band playing Exchange 6 was plugged into a large pickup truck, the sole power source. Dominique, our course manager, was concerned that the pickup would blow a fuse, hence the need for generator backup. With Ben's help, I dropped of the generator by the bandstand. As it turned out, she was right and the generator saved the day, or at least the band.

Dan and Tanner have been encouraging volunteers to come up with exchange themes and show up in costume, with awards to be presented to the best volunteers. Pictured above are our Spanish themed volunteers, who managed the Exchange 12 in Stockholm. Amoung the more popular volunteers were the M&M ladies, and Elvis, who came with groupies in poodle skirts and a large cardboard guitar that runners autographed. Elvis won the Ragnarly Volunteer award, but he was one of many who totally captured the spirit of the race.

The trio shown in the photo above at a table in the Stockholm Park had it easy until the crowd arrived. The crowds of runners build up and disburse slowly, but at their peak they are frantic. For an hour or so early in the evening the normally quiet streets of Stockholm (population 97) were jammed with runners. At least six of us did our best to keep them out of the street, both so traffic could make it through town and also so that vans carrying runners could find where to park. Dominique finally strung tape near the exchange to keep runners out of the street, and that seemed to work. Before that, we might as well have been trying to hold back the tides.

I hung in Stockholm from about 2:30 - 9:30 before heading to Maiden Rock, Exchange 13. There I was to work the second shift, and was surprised to see the entire Jenson family working the exchange. Jim spotted runners as they approached the exchange and radioed their numbers to Peggy. Peggy checked them off as they arrived. Sarah sat on the curb by the exchange, reading the latest Harry Potter with her flashlight. I did my best to relieve them but Peggy wouldn't hear of it. She sent me off to sleep for an hour. When I returned, she sent me up to hang out with Jim. After another hour or so (time was a blur at this point), with Peggy still insisting that they were having fun and would stick it out, I left, driving to Prescott, where the local high school served as the next major exchange. There again the volunteers were fantistic. High school teachers directed runners and traffic through tricky turns to the high school. At the high school there was food, showers, and a room for sleeping on mats. With all calm (as I supposed), I pulled into the high school parking lot, put down my seat and went to sleep.

The Start

2007-08-26T15:13:00.001-07:00

The tranquil view of the Great River contrasts with the race start, though the two are but fifty or so feet apart. Despite overcast skies and mist, runners appeared promptly in high spirits, many in costumes, including the Women High on Running (aka the WHORs), pictured above with the Faster Pastors. The WHORs, of Fargo, ND, bonded with the Faster Pastors, of small towns in Northwest Wisconsin, in a bar the night before the race. As one of the pastors acknowledged, there is always work to be done, and so they did their best to befriend the WHORs. Indeed, at the end of the race one of the WHORs told me that a Pastor intends to present a PowerPoint sermon featuring in the WHORs.

The WHORs were sponsored in part by Dick Beardsley's running store in Fargo. Beardsley is famous for his "duel in the sun" with Alberto Salazar at the most famous Boston Marathon. This was the race that both won, though Salazar crossed the finish line a few seconds before Beardsley. Salazar was never again the same runner, finally resuming form somewhat years later with his victory in the Comrades Marathon in South Africa, attributing his recovery to Prosac and generating considerable controversy in the process. Beardsley had his own struggles, becoming addicted to pain killers while recovering from a severe farm accident. Both are legends, and I was delightedto see Dick's name associated with Ragnar.

The leader of the WHORs assured me Dick knew of them. She added that when training, her team "chases Dick" and today would be "running for Dick.

After that encounter I met Dave Clements, the head of the LaCrosse Convention and Visitors Bureau. He had on a nice shirt and tie, and appeared to be sober, conservative fellow. I mentioned that the race had bought some strange people to his town. At this, he began laughing maniacally and replied, "It's a strange town!" I gathered he approved of us.

This year 100 teams ran, triple the number a year ago. Teams came from throughout the upper Midwest, and there was even a team from Arizona and several runners from Utah. I talked to runners from several different parts of Wisconsin, from Minnesota (mostly the Twin Cities area), North Dakota and Chicago. I hung out through the 11am start, then received a call to deliver generators to exchanges 6 and 12. I made the mistake of trying to follow Streets and Trips out of town, and soon found myself on a trail, looking for a way out, hoping that if I ran into a Wisconsin police officer he would be more understanding than his Minnesota counterpart of the previous evening.

Ragnar Relay Great River - the set up

2007-08-26T14:53:00.000-07:00

I flew to Minneapolis Thursday morning. My flight was delayed 2 hours because of bad weather in MSP - two of three runways shut down, rain and very low visibility. Not what you would want the day before a race, but the forecast is for clearing. It has been one disaster after another in Minnesota, first the freeway bridge collapse in downtown Minneapolis that miraculously left "only" 15 or so dead, followed by torrential rains that were even more deadly. A week earlier, there were rains bringing up to 15 inches within 24 hours. Many landslides that destroyed hundreds of homes. Much of the damage was caused by water falling from the bluffs above the Missisippi, though the river itself flooded in some places.

The above photo is of the take off point for our journey from the Twin Cities area down to LaCrosse. Note the Orange Chariot of Sweetnes (COS) pulling the trailer with all of the gear we need for both start and finish. In addition, there were 8 additional vans for the course managers - two of them, Corissa and Dominique, have rsponsibility for the whole course, and the remaining six are responsible for 6 exchanges each.

By the time we had the vans all loaded it was late, nearly dark, but fortunately the rain had stopped. Tanner and I more or less followed each other to LaCrosse, stopping at a Country Kitchen on the way. My journey was slowed by a friendly Minnesota officer who ticketed me for failure to move left when there were emergency vehicles on the freeway shoulder. I learned that is a new law in Minnesota, and other than that, the less said the better.

Dan and Jamie, and one of our course managers, Keith, arrived in LaCrosse about the same time as Tanner and me. We immediately began setting up the start, in particular banners and scaffolding. By the time we finished, it was nearly 2am. Dan and Jamie went to their room. I went with Keith to another room, but already one of our managers was in one of the beds. I left the room to Keith and returned to the start, where Tanner and I both slept (briefly) in our cars. Promptly at 4am, Dan returned to finish the set up. Tanner popped out upon Dan's arrived. In deference to my advanced years, Dan let me sleep in to 5am, at which time I staggered out and helped with final set up details. Shortly after 6am, the first runners arrived, and everything was looking good, including the weather. It was overcast but the forecast was for clearing. The benefit of the storms was the temperatures were moderate, excellent conditions for running.

Why we do it

2007-08-19T17:55:00.000-07:00

Next week we will present our fourth Ragnar Relay of 2007, and eighth overall. We may add another event or two in 2008, and more in 2009, including, if all goes well, the Big Island. This has gone faster than I imagined, and it has been satisfying to see something I dreamed about for so long become a reality.

I intend to keep a log of next weekend's event - the Ragnar Relay Great River. Before that, however, it seems like a good time to step back and take a look at why we do it and how it got to this point.

For me, it all started somewhere around 1985. I had resumed running devotedly for three or four years, and had friends planning to run the Wasatch 100. I couldn't imagine doing that event myself, but as a matter of interest told my dad about it. He then told me of a relay running from Mt. Hood to the Oregon Coast in which some of his friends at the office competed. I was immediately intrigued. The idea of sharing the burden and experience of a long distance with friends captured my imagination. A year or two later, driving from Sunriver to Portland after a family reunion, I noticed signs in Gresham welcoming Hood to Coast participants. Wanting to see what the race was like, I drove to Portland's west side, and saw volunteers dismantling an exchange. They seemed purposeful, engaged. I wanted to be involved.

I came home and wrote a letter to Bob Foote, Hood to Coast founder, suggesting that he consider presenting a similar event in Utah. I suggested Bear Lake to Park City via Evanston (Wyo.) and the Mirror Lake Highway. To my surprise, a few days later Bob gave me a call. He had a friend who had been trying to talk him into starting a race in Utah. He proposed we do it together. That I hadn't expected, but it got me thinking. A few weeks later - Black Monday, October 19, 1987, to be exact - I visited Bob at his office.

Bob was bursting with enthusiasm. The Hood to Coast was only six years old and already it had well over 500 teams. Bob was still a practicing architect, but he told me he found himself increasingly devoting his thoughts and any free time to the race. He had hopes of building a national relay series, but his Georgia event hadn't gone as well as expected, and he wondered if an openness to adventure was a part of the culture of the Pacific Northwest that was lacking elsewhere. Having grown up in Oregon, I knew that Mt. Hood and the Coast were magnets whose pull was irresistable to Portlanders. Maybe that was the secret. Whatever the secret, there was no mistaking Bob's passion for the race. He talked about the intensity of the experience, and the devotion of the participants. He obviously loved everything about the event. He repeated his offer to partner with me, and I returned to Utah to try to figure out how I could do it.

Not long after I talked to Bob personal trajedy struck when our young son Tyler was killed in an accident. That sad experience and its aftermath put everything on hold, but over the years I talked to various friends about partnering on an event, and imagined multiple routes. The concept of a course that I thought would work began to take shape when I bought property in Ogden Valley and learned that there is a dirt road connecting that valley with Cache Valley. (The photo above is an image of Ogden Valley on race day 2007.) That road was the missing link connecting Logan to Park City - almost the entire back of the Wasatch Range. Still, on my own, the task seemed too overwhelming and the idea remained nothing more than an idea until my son Dan and his friend and neighbor Tanner Bell decided they liked the idea and wanted to pursue it.

Dan and Tanner had already shown me they could do things I would have never seriously considered. In high school, they founded a volleyball club, discovered it was hard to find volleyball gear, and persuaded Tanner's dad Corey and me to finance their establishment of a small retail outlet where they could sell what had been so difficult to find. On one summer vacation to the Oregon Coast - where Tanner accompanied our family so he and Dan could participate in a beach volleyball tournament - I observed with astonishment as Tanner, no more than 17, called volleyball gear manufacturers around the country to set up wholesale accounts. In the end, I ended up with a basement full of volleyballs, knee pads and shorts and lost my investment, but Dan and Tanner got an education.

A few years later, on a beautiful September day, Dan, Tanner and I drove most of what would become the route of the Wasatch Back Relay. We all loved the course. We marvelled at its variety and beauty. As the route exceeds 5000 feet throughout and includes difficult climbs through mountain passes, we weren't sure whether many runners would want to try it, and, if they did, whether any would come back. But we were willing to risk it and began making plans for a race. Our first thought was to have 2 or 3 teams of friends and family do a test run in August of 2003. That fell apart, however, and I thought that, finally, my dream had died.

To my surprise, a few months later, in about January of 2004, Dan told me he and Tanner had started working on a race book and building a website. They showed me their early drafts and I was impressed. We settled on the June weekend closest to summer solstice for the race date, thinking the more daylight the better. Dan and Tanner presented me with the outline of a partnership. They were ready to give it a try. We set the goal of recruiting 20 teams. I called Lee Benson, Deseret News columnist and old friend, and asked whether he would consider a piece about the race. He agreed. With that, barely three months before our scheduled race date, we launched the website and were on our way.

Twenty two teams ran that first year. We started the race at Hardware Ranch, 17 miles up Blacksmith Fork Canyon south of Logan. My parents checked runners in at the start, my brother Ron enlisted Nike's support in providing t-shirts, and much of my extended family, including Ron, came to help. After we announced our first group of teams and finally sent them off, Tanner and I hugged each other and wiped away tears. It was a great moment, and unforgettable. The Wasatch Back has grown each year - to 315 teams this June. Participation in each of our other events is ahead of the pace set by the Wasatch Back

Three weeks ago we concluded the first running of the Ragnar Relay Northwest Passage. The Monday after, I flew to Portland and had lunch with Bob Foote. We had seen each other two or three times during the 20 years since our first meeting. But this was the first time we had talked at any length since then. I updated Bob on our four events, describing the progress of each. He was extremely gracious, congratulating me on what we had accomplished to date, and told me he thought the proliferation of new events was good for everyone, and in particular the Hood to Coast, which he figured most relay enthusiasts would eventually want to run. He recounted his experiences building the Hood to Coast to the largest relay event in the world. With undiminished enthusiasm he described his attention to the smallest detail. He told me of some of his plans, which included his daughter succeeding him as director of the face. I can't but admire his accomplishment, and at the same time feel gratitude that he invented a sport that has brought joy to a lot of people.

As we were walking to his car after lunch, Bob told me what he considered the essential ingredient to the success of the Hood to Coast - passion. He told me he always expected his daughter would attend an Ivy League business school. When she graduated from college, however, all she wanted to do was work on the race. She was born the year after its founding, and had grown up with it. She had told him she loves the race so much she would work on it for free. Recognizing a chip of the old block, he signed her up.

I've given a quick overview of how we got to where we are, but haven't yet answered the question of why we do it. Bob provided the answer. Passion. We do it because we love it. I have loved relays since I first learned what they were. I love watching them - in events ranging from high school dual meets to the Olympics. I loved participating in them. My best moments in high school were running relays, including an unforgettable distance medley relay at Haywood Field at the University of Oregon before the Oregon-Oregon State dual meet that our team won at the tape. I've organized and run with multiple Hood to Coast teams and enjoyed them all. Now injuries prevent me from running, but I get the same thrill helping with our events as I did running myself.

From our first Wasatch Back Relay, to the recent Ragnar Relay Northwest Passage, comments from our runners have been overwhelmingly positive. The enthusiasm of the twenty two teams who pioneered the Wasatch Back convinced us the event could grow and be successful if we worked hard, took care of the details, and improved every year. So far that has proven to be true. As a native Oregonian, I find magic in Mt. Hood and the Oregon Coast. But, as we have learned, those locations are not essential to a great relay experience. We have seen that experience repeated in the Wasatch mountains, the bluffs of the upper Mississippi River, the Sonoran Desert and the isles of Puget Sound.

For many of us, happiness is elusive and we are poor predictors of where we will find it. But if anything consistently produces happiness it is this: working with others to push ourselves to our limits. Overnight relays create that experience. They require hard work, planning, cooperation and endurance. My wife Tauni (pictured in orange with her 2007 Wasatch Back team above) told me recently that relays have been her salvation. Training for and participating in them has kept her fit and bonded her with friends. We have heard countless similar stories. We see runners perform physically at a level beyond what many of them thought possible. More impressively, we see runners encourage and care for, not only their teammates, but their fellow competitors. We have had volunteers who work many events tell us that our runners routinely show courtesy and gratitude that they rarely see at other types of running events. Whatever the reason, time and again at our relays we have observed people at their best. And so, we keep at it. We are thankful that runners keep coming. I look forward to many more Ragnar Relays, and I hope Dan and Tanner continue to present them long after I am gone.