here's the thing.

Back in August I wrote this thing.

It was a very meaningful thing for me, something I fully intended to write even if the only eyes that ever saw it were my own and those belonging to my daughters and my wife.

Meghan Hicks, a much more gifted writer than myself and a talented editor to boot, encouraged me to share the thing with others.  On August 21, iRunFar published it and I held my breath:

www.irunfar.com - Why do you have to run so much?

The entire experience proved immensely rewarding as the responses were immediate and overwhelmingly positive.  Meghan's spot-on spidey senses were correct and, incredibly, the piece seemed to resonate with many other reader-runners.

I cherished and continue to cherish every kind word and empathetic comment, text and e-mail message, but, of course, it was the few less-than-positive responses that lingered and made me examine my own motivations and question whether or not I was actually being the parent I so wish to be.

As was intended, in that the article really was a letter written directly to Lily in response to a question raised on the immediate heels of one miserably long weekend during which she and Piper Bea were shuttled from one distant checkpoint to another by my well-meaning mother and stepfather while getting too little sleep ahead of a long week of kindergarten, the piece was entirely without further context for outside readers.

Anyone reading the letter was free, for better or worse, to draw her or his own conclusions as to who I am, how the Lutz family interacts (or doesn't) and just how much or little time I actually spend with my children.  Transport the letter off into the landscape of very different familial experiences and another cast of characters and it easily reads as a potentially hollow, get-out-of-jail-free excuse for never, ever being there, a "here's your answer" missive to be pulled later from the time capsule as explanation for the father Lily and Piper never knew.

But, an "absentee father", I can report with clear conscience, I am not.

My daughters know their father intimately and as a very much present feature in their everyday existence.  Yes, I spend time running, but most of that occurs in the dead of night or in the earliest of mornings while my two girls slumber blissfully, secure in the knowledge that mine will be the first face, as it nearly always is, to greet them with a smile when they awake.

Additionally, both Lily and Piper are enthusiastic supporters of my running and, whether out of want to please their father or because of their own genuine "when I grow up" plannings, they spend a good bit of time asking me when they are going to get to race on trails and if, one day, they can run "up" mountains with me.  On most mornings, one of the first questions out of their mouths is "did you go running?" and, if my answer is "yes", they demand plentiful, vivid details.  I'm also constantly peppered with inquiries of when and where they'll next get to see Kelly, Jo, Derek, J.C. or any number of our other "running friends" even if their shyness will take over when the next meetings occur.

Lily, constantly drawing and practicing her penmanship and storytelling, often references running in her journal writing, as evidenced by these recent entries:

Just in case you didn't recognize me by the flat head and markedly Abyssinian beard, I'm the one on the right.  The four-legged companion on the left is Mammie, a/k/a Sugar Pie.  A beloved member of the family of our friends, Sugar Pie, due to circumstances not tied to her behavior or good standing, was in need of a new loving home.

We've had a number of bumps in our road to find a pet to fill the void created by the passing of our dear Clouseau back in the summer of 2011:

thisbeesknees - Goodbye to Clouseau

After a recent bad experience, I rather firmly decided that we were going to remain dog-less for the foreseeable future rather than adopt/rescue the next cute puppy that we stumbled upon only to find that there were any number of reasons why the dog was a poor fit for our home.  It wasn't fair to us and it certainly wasn't fair to the dogs.

Then along came Sugar Pie.

We could immediately see why our friends had been so fond of her and why they were sad that they didn't have a solution for keeping her.  She was calm and gentle, loving but not overwhelmingly so.  We found we could trust her in the backyard and her iron bladder proved trustworthy in the house.  We didn't have to run sweeps of the entire house to make sure that any and all chewable targets were out of sight.

Most importantly she was just a sweet, reassuring and comfortable addition to the family.

And, yes, she could run...LOVED to run.

I struggled to keep up with her but enjoyed every second of the challenge.  She also shared valuable lessons in recovery, starting as soon as we were done and maintaining that discipline until it was time for the next outing.

And Lil could run too, it turned out.

She finished the Manheim Central Run for Fitness and collected a ribbon that she first accepted reluctantly, having finished in the middle of the pack just like her daddy, but later showed off proudly.

And I proudly showed off the ribbon (and Lily) too!

The same person who accused me of being absent rather pointedly suggested that I had written the iRF article in order to feel better about missing my kids childhood.  If I were in fact trading their childhood for time spent in the woods, there couldn't possibly be any writing, saying or doing of anything that could make up for that inexcusable failing.

Here's the thing...

...thankfully, I'm here, right here, taking part in every new twist and turn in our travels together...and excited for whatever comes next.

we walk.

"My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing."

- Aldous Huxley

And this father does too.

four walls too many.

Churches confound me.

Nowhere does the memory of my deceased father come so close to solidity.  The personal joy that his faith brought him, a Grace Brethren minister come to religion only in adulthood, seems to swirl about the room, threatening to take physical form in the body that I watched in its broken and withered state for the weeks and months before we laid that body to rest.

But it isn't a joy that finds its way into my own body and, otherwise, these rooms, filled with gathered worshippers, are without a warmth that I can discern, despite smiles and verbiage that profess to its existence.

I'm not sure why I question the fervor of strangers (I shouldn't), but I do, especially in an environment that speaks not to me.

If there is a higher power and we believe that that higher power is for some reason reaching out specifically to "us", why do we close ourselves away from the natural world that we espouse as "his" perfect creation?  Why would we construct walls with doors to pass through and close behind us before uttering praise?  It defies all logic and seems to add a "yeah, but" asterisk to those perfection proclamations.

God created the world in all its splendor but, oops, forgot to erect structures within which proper homage could be paid for that most miraculous of miracles?

I too have wanted to raise my arms skyward in exaltation, but not indoors.

Never there.

From the tops of high peaks, under the canopy of solemn trees, while knee deep in the rush of spring runoff, shadowed beneath towering canyon walls, yes, but never indoors.

Walls, with the aid of roofs, protect and shelter, but they also block vision, muffle nature's music and cloak beauty that cannot be improved upon.

Even amidst a civilization endowed with infinite capacity to manufacture fear, I welcome the darkness of night, the punishing glare of sunlight, the whipping of the wind and weather's bombardment over the stale suffocation of enclosure.

sins of the father.

Today we buried my father's father.

Ten years ago we'd laid his youngest son, my father, to rest.

Much as I did while seated at my dad's memorial service, I found myself pondering unasked questions and wondering why emotions run so strong and so near the surface only when there no longer exists the opportunity to share them with the source.

I listened as my uncle shared touching and heartfelt recollections of my grandfather's sacrifices, his humor and his love for people.  He was right.

While I listened, though, I wondered why grandchildren and great-grandchildren had had so little opportunity to experience these attributes first-hand.  As kids, we hadn't had any say in the matter and embraced the little time granted without further consideration.  But as adults and, eventually, parents ourselves, we hadn't made any greater effort to seek out the company of a man from whom we'd accepted a certain degree of detachment.  We bemoaned the lack of closeness and loved the man in spite of it.  I did, at least.  But proactive steps to diminish the gap were not taken.

And now the chance to take those steps is gone.

I hope that Lily and Piper are decades removed from having to give account of how their parents provided for them and of the lives their parents led. When reporting that their father loved to run and immensely enjoyed hiking and camping with his friends, may they not believe those activities to have been pursued at the expense of the time and attention owed them.

May they never question if they were loved or that they mattered most of all to their mother and father.

They are and they do.

no wimps?

I've been hearing about Smith's Challenge for as long as I've been running but have had prior engagements, been nursing injuries or have simply spaced it entirely year after year.  Sounds like I've been avoiding the event, but really (and sadly), I think I've just taken it for granted and nearly did so until it was too late.

Counting today, Smith's Challenge has taken place each and every Father's Day morning for the last 22 years.  It's a 10K trail race for men only (don't worry, ladies, Mrs. Smith's Challenge happens every Mother's Day) that rolls its way around Lancaster County Park, finding itself a surprising number of hills and technical stretches for what one would consider a fairly tame municipal park.  It definitely lives up to its name, especially on a punishingly hot day like today.  There wouldn't be a "tomorrow", however, as this was to be the final installment of the long-running classic (cross your fingers that this proves a false alarm).

I'm not going to bore you (this time) with a point-to-point race report, but I will own up to the fact that I didn't exactly set the course on fire.  Yes, this was the first time that I'd actually managed a run since the Laurel Highlands Ultra the weekend prior and, yes, I was battling a pretty nasty warm weather cold all week long.  But even with those excuses in hand, I really think my "problem" today was that it was one of those mornings that I was truly content just stretching my legs, embracing the effort and not finding any extra motivation to do anything more than enjoy myself.

The run was one of the most satisfying that I've had in as long as I can remember in a timed "official" event.  I had no idea what kind of pace I was managing to maintain and I really couldn't have cared less.  I thought about my father.  I thought about my being a father.  I thought about my kids.  I thought about my wife.  And I also did a good bit of not thinking about any damn thing except the shared efforts of the other runners and how much I appreciated cold cups of water being handed over every so often by the only women on the course.

Moments after crossing the finished line, I looked up at some of the arriving finishers and recognized a face I don't believe I've seen anywhere but in publicity photos for the book he's written.  Christopher McDougall is the author of Born to Run, a fascinating account of the Tarahumara Indians of Mexico's Copper Canyons and their culture of running, a scientific look at the mechanics of the human body and the love-hate relationship of modern footwear AND most importantly just a beautiful, inspirational celebration of the allure of running.

http://www.chrismcdougall.com/book.html

It just so happens that Mr. McDougall is also a Lancaster County local who knows a good trail run when he sees one.  He also happens, like the rest of us hacks, to need a cold drink after navigating 6.2 miles and I wasn't about to stand in his way.  I couldn't help myself, however, from extending a hand (while leaving a clear path to the water table) and thanking him for writing and publishing Born to Run.

I know full well that books aren't written for individual readers, but the best books, I firmly believe, make the reader think that they are.  I'm glad I got the chance to express that idea to the author who left me thinking that this one might have been penned for me.

Clambering into the car for the drive home, I knew I'd already had one heck of a Father's Day and hadn't even seen the family yet.  The rest of the day was a joy, catching a bit of the World Cup, playing with the girls and enjoying a cookout in my mother's and stepfather's lovely backyard.

The icing on the cake was having Lily hand-color my race bib. 

keys, celery and a toy drill.

Poor Piper Bea is nearing the end of her rope with the whole teething thing.  She'll gnaw on anything within arm's reach in a thus far failed attempt to relieve the four small sources of her aggravation.

A couple of weeks ago she tried to devour a set of plastic keys.  Last Sunday at our pre-Thanksgiving family get together she discovered the cool, solid vegetable that is celery.  That seemed to work for a short time, but eventually she sent a telepathic message to my stepfather who obliged her wish by running a toy drill along her gums.  For a short time, she seemed to have found solace.

Today brought more of the same frustration and though she was putting up a good fight, the teeth were once again winning the day.  Piper gnashed her teeth and eyeballed every toy in the house, the kitchen appliances even the salespersons at the hardware store.

Unfortunately, that toy drill does not dwell in our home (though I plan on rectifying that).  Yesterday's run, however, seemed to be a decent substitute and I decided to give it another go.

Piper napped fitfully until 4:30 and I knew we were pressing our luck.  I decided to wake her up, quickly ushered her into her car seat and fed her a bottle on the drive over to the rails-to-trail.  By the time we pulled up to the trailhead, Pipe had downed most of the bottle and gave little resistance when I removed it from her mouth.  She didn't argue as I buckled her into the jogging stroller.  Another good sign.  I threw a headlamp into the stroller's pocket and away we went.

I'd decided to be content with whatever distance we were able to cover, but hoped we'd at least manage a 5K.  Light was fading as we neared an intersection that serves as a just-over-a-mile-and-a-half turnaround.  Piper's early cooing (adorable) had quieted and I wasn't surprised to peek under the weather shield to find her sleeping soundly.

Daddy's "drill" had worked its magic.

Breaking out the headlamp, I pushed past the intersection and continued on to the true turnaround, pleased to have stretched the mileage a little further.  Pipe slept the rest of the way and then serenaded me with sweet little infant songs on the drive home.  I felt rewarded.

Of course the pain returned and before we'd made it the whole way through Piper Bea's entree of organic sweet potatoes, she'd turned her attention away from the food and focused on the spoon itself.

But, Monday will bring with it the possibility of another comforting run. Lily comes home tomorrow and she'll find a little sister, mother and father who are thrilled to have her back.

It's definitely time to track down a double jogging stroller.

piper's inaugural run.

And so today it became official:  my daughters run.

Or, at the very least, they've both been taken for runs by their father.  And, thankfully, they seem to enjoy it.  At two-and-a-half, Lily Harper has been out with me in Pennsylvania's unpredictable spring, the all too predictable heat and humidity of summer and the cold chill of autumn and winter.  She's accompanied me on empty and crowded paths.  Even raced (if you checked my times, you'd challenge my right to use the term) in a 5K that began with an after-the-gun-had-fired-dash-from-the-men's-room start (a candidate for its own post).

This afternoon, (almost) eight month old Piper Bea experienced her first run on a cold and breezy November day.  I'm actually disappointed and slightly embarrassed that this is the first I've gotten Piper into the jogging stroller and out on the trail.  Lil and I used to get out frequently and today served as a reminder to not allow Piper Bea to miss out on special experiences now that my home and schedule have become even fuller.

I've had Lily laugh and chatter throughout a full run, but often early enthusiasm fades to a rhythm-induced nap.  Such was the case today for Piper and it was a blessing for us both.

 Poor Pipe has had (count 'em) one, two, three, four baby teeth pokily creeping toward poking through for what's now going on three weeks.  In the last day or two Piper's discomfort has increased tremendously and she'd struggled with a restlessness that has taken a toll on her, Lindsay (her mother) and myself. She hadn't gotten the uninterrupted naps that she craves and requires at this age.  Between a busy week of pre-holiday work, Thanksgiving engagements and attending to Piper, I hadn't been in running shoes since last weekend and both my mind and body were all too aware of that fact. With big sister Lily away for the weekend on a trip to the mountains with her Memma (my mother) and Lindsay putting in a rare weekend shift at the hospital, Piper and I had the afternoon all to ourselves.

All to ourselves and the teeth.

And that's when the solution became obvious.  A quick trip to the local gas station and its "free air" reinvigorated the tires on our lovely jogging stroller.  While Piper wasn't exactly laughing and chattering, she had stopped crying and was watching quietly and curiously as I hung up the air hose and lifted the stroller back up into the van.

A few moments later we arrived at the Lancaster Junction Rails-to-Trail to find a nearly deserted trailhead.  With a stiff breeze making mid-40's temperatures feel closer to freezing, I tucked a blanket around Piper (which initially made her angry), affixed the transparent weather shield to the stroller and off we went.  Settling into a comfortable pace and paying close attention to the path which fluctuates seasonally from a muddy track to a pitted, hard stroller-bumpfest, I attuned my ears for the sound of crying that thankfully never came.

We put in a slow but steady 4-and-a-half miles, cheerfully (and in my case, proudly) accepting the "isn't she adorable" compliment from the sole dogwalker braving the wind.  After a bit, traffic thinned out entirely and we had the path all to ourselves.  I heard barely a peep out of Pipe and suspected that she'd been lulled to sleep somewhere along the way.

I reveled in the fact that much like Lily and Daddy, Piper seemed to find her own brand of escapism in logging a few miles.  There's certainly a chance that neither one of them will have any interest in running as they get older and perhaps its being "Dad's thing" makes that likely, but I hope they'll at least have warm (even if foggy) memories of our time together.

I know I will.