love thy neighbor.

"As the years go by and I watch my children already being better versions of me, as I continue to add names to the list of people I wish lived closer, led lives that managed to overlap now and again with my own or, worse yet, were simply still living, I get better and better at being mindful of all there is to appreciate. Focus drifts for periods of time, moods darken and the weight of day-to-day existence shrouds the holding up of all the good things now and again, but few days pass without my remembering my blessings."

I wrote those words more than five years ago, as Lil and then Pipe emerged from infancy and began to show the innate kindness and sensitivity inherited from their mother as well as unveiling their own unique traits. Each new day I see more to celebrate in their emotional and intellectual growth.

I wrote those words in reflection of lost loved ones and dispersed friends. Migration from this world and across the planet has continued.

Blessings still abound and my appreciation of them has only deepened.

I cannot effectively express, at least not fully, how loved and worried-over we've felt the last few days and how much it has meant. If circumstance is equitable enough to find us in the same place again, I hope to have the chance to pull many of you close in shared embrace, look you in the eye, and tell you directly of what your gestures have meant. Depth of emotion even then will probably make me bumble and fall short on the words, but I'll get the hug right.

Thank you.

Know that your kindness is noticed and cherished. Know that we anxiously await the opportunity to pay it back and pay it forward.

Know that the love we feel is love we hope that each of you feel from us in return and from others around you.

The news in all its forms points to our differences of politics, of religion, of heritage, of social or economic status, of interests, of lifestyle, of opinion and would have us "know" that all is lost. I look to my broad circle of friends, diverse in politics, religion, heritage, social and economic status, interests, lifestyle, and opinion and choose to see not "sides" but individuals trying their best to make sense of their short existence. I KNOW all is not lost.

Doubt, anger, and frustration are human inevitabilities but they need not steer entirely our perspectives.

"Love thy neighbor as thyself." It is a biblical imperative, but, you need not espouse Christianity or any other religion to understand that in the broadest sense, this is basically a natural inclination.

A child is faced with a life-altering (at least) medical diagnosis, a family sags beneath the burden, and instinctually you want to know how you can help. You don't run through some checklist to make certain that the girl and her family are on your side. You act. In those moments, we know there are no sides. Too often we feel otherwise.

From one neighbor to another, thank you. I love you and I thank you for loving me, loving Lily, loving all of us.

We've received an abundance of support of every kind, but, if we can, we ask one more favor. We ask that you remember the rest of your literal and figurative neighbors over the likely contentious weeks ahead.

Disagree.

Debate.

But please don't let differences of opinion stand in the way of the need to care for one another. Don't let fictitious divisions become absolutes.

It's hard, but it's not as hard as we make it if we put love and human decency first.

Do glad.

new years solutions.

"While the fates permit, live happily; life speeds on with hurried step, and with winged days the wheel of the headlong year is turned."

- the Roman philosopher Seneca the Stoic

Another round of ceremonial balls has dropped, fireworks have fired and "first kisses" have been planted with wandering eyes peeking expectantly at the shrouded days ahead, all signals of the rearrival of the time for life altering affirmations.

When and why it was decided that the first of the year is when this should occur, I often wonder.

And, since we're bothering to pose questions, has any New Years resolution ever seen the month of May?  If so, wasn't it far more than that to begin with and, as such, due just action prior to the prompting of a new calendar being tacked to the wall?

I'll say this (try and stop me), whatever the impetus, change for the better is better than NOT changing and doing so (not doing so?) for the worse.  I'm all for finding what it is that drives you and, well, letting it drive you.

One need not be a runner (or about to be one) to be someone who makes resolutions, but it does seem that the two classifications are often one and the same.

This will be the year to run faster, to get stronger.  A year to go farther.  Run smarter.

It's time to slim down.  To bulk up.  To lose weight, lift weights.  To amass muscle.

A time to diet.  To change one's diet.  To eat less red meat.  Eat no meat.  Load carbs, avoid carbs, be free of fat, of cholesterol, of gluten.  To be free.

This year speed work will be incorporated.  More hills will be repeated.  Intervals will happen.  Fartleks?  Laps at the track?  Negative splits?  Back-to-backs?  Check.

Gonna finally run a 5K, a half, a full, an ultra, a whatever comes after that.  Gotta up the mileage.  Road miles, trail miles, mixed miles.  Miles and miles and miles.

Miles that lead to PRs, to age group awards, to podiums, perhaps.

In keeping with our bee-buzzing culture, all this game planning over a fresh clean calendar demands that we fill all that blank space.  There it sits...blankly.  If the calendar isn't filled, what's the point of all these new resolutions?  Fill it.

Must.  Fill.  It.

Well, honestly, I've got nothing.

Or maybe I'm foolish enough to think I've got everything.  Or something close to it.

I'm no different than any other ultrarunner.  I already had my calendar and had even penciled in a few preliminary races.  With others that I'd like to do in mind, if not on paper.  Races that I  still may do some day.

Or not.

It really doesn't matter to me.  Not as much as I sense others think it should. But motivation is mine to find just as it is for them. I have and always will root for others to meet their goals whether those goals are similar or dissimilar to my own.

But, me, I picked up that pencil, spun it around and erased the few entries that inhabited given spaces on the calendar.  After "unfilling" my calendar, I wrote three letters in the box reserved for January 1st.

TNT.

I wrote it again on the 2nd, the 3rd and each day thereafter in January before flipping the page and the next page and the next until there were no more open dates.  Those races to which I'd already committed were added back but only in small print at the very bottom of each of their corresponding compartments.

No, I don't have any explosive intentions for ANY day much less the entire year.  I too couldn't live with an empty calendar but I'm convinced that the most important goals for me, personally, have nothing to do with speed, with specific distances or any particular badge of honor event.

Not really.

Instead of always prepping for upcoming challenges, training for the next race, being excited for something that WILL happen, I simply want to continue to embrace every moment WHILE it is happening.  Racing can and will be part of those many moments but, in no way, is it, has it been or ever will it be the sole definer of who I am or how fulfilling life is.

And, in the end, the clock's report just doesn't matter.  Not to me.

I think I may have thought it did.  Until I really stopped to think about it.  And then I realized that it doesn't and that I was wrong.

It really doesn't matter at all.

The most rewarding of race days, for me, have had nothing to do with the final time.  The races that really demanded endurance, the overcoming of obstacles, physical or mental, stand out even though the finish lines weren't reached until many, many other runners had crossed there first.  Days of failure, from a competitive standpoint, are anything but failings if bonds were formed and strengthened, if laughter was shared.

Recollections of the small handful of races that resulted in finishes closer to the front of the pack are faint.  In fact, while running alone the other morning and beginning to put these thoughts together I recognized fondly that I can't actually recall what my fastest times are at any given distance.  And I hope that doesn't change even if my efficiency or performance should improve.  It's just not of importance to me and I can't and won't try and convince myself otherwise.

I'm not abandoning racing or attempting to rain on anyone else's competitive parade, but the closer I pay attention to what motivates and makes me feel alive, the more inspired I am by the things that often go overlooked, that take place without the fanfare of a starting gun or a bag full of swag.  Adventure lurks everywhere and quiet bolsters the spirit as much as cheers.  Solitude is so precious, so miraculous.  It balances and in turn makes me that much more appreciative of the opportunities to spend time with friends, encouraging and being encouraged.  THAT is what keeps "racing" interesting not the competition to see who's done what and how.

At pissing contests, I'd just as soon be the guy with the empty bladder.

Call it my resolution or, as I prefer, a philosophy that I've slowly carved out and to which I have fully subscribed.  I will continue to seek and find the adventure in the everyday.  To relish quiet whenever and wherever it can be found.  And all the while to cherish and nurture friendships.

Every day.  Every TODAY.

Today, not tomorrow.

Today.

Not.

Tomorrow.

TNT.

O.R. they?

As I sit here typing, it's hard not to think about the fact that this time next week I'll be trying to get a good night of sleep ahead of taking the first step of the 6 days and 120 miles that is GORE-TEX TransRockies the following morning.

Am I excited?  Yep.

But concerned too.

The more my fitness has improved, the more aware I've become of my weaknesses and the fact that there's just no way to properly mimic running at altitude when there's no altitude to be had.  Not without money (and the contraptions that money can buy) that I do not possess (and couldn't justify on said contraptions if I did).

I spent the past several days in Salt Lake City at the Outdoor Retailer Summer Market trade show and, while there, had a couple of different chances to test the legs, lung and heart at higher elevations and had first hand opportunity to confirm that while being fit is a good foundation it doesn't always overcome science.

A whole summer of diligent nurture turned on its head by nature.  Go figure.

But up on the Great Western Trail in the Wasatch Mountains, I got myself the taste I needed to know more tangibly what I'm up against and that can't be all bad.  The racing pulse that signals my arrival at 9,000+ feet doesn't need to be a total deal breaker, but I've gotta handle it.  Feeling that pounding again firsthand before the actual first day of "racing" was definitely worthwhile.

It was also a blessing to be able to witness far more talented and experienced runners do what they do, either by bystanding or by running right alongside (or just behind) them.  I picked every accessible brain and tucked away what I could from offered advice and/or accounts of races and adventures.  I watched the way incredibly skilled trail technicians chose their steps and transitioned paces depending on the terrain.  I listened to them describe highs and lows and found that in many cases the moments they seemed to cherish weren't necessarily finish lines or medal ceremonies, but more often the same minor triumphs or beautiful landscapes that us less accomplished plodders  hold dear.

I'd been reminded, as I often am in the presence of trail runners that the majority of us are in search of the same camaraderie, friendship and shared passions.

I wasn't going to be able to thieve any of that talent or call upon experience that belonged to others, but maybe just maybe I stored away some new perspectives and nuggets of insight that I can draw from during those pending 6 days up high in Colorado.

We can't all stand atop podiums or set records, but we can each take another step along the trail, up the next climb or down the next descent.

Not being entirely sure what lies around the bend isn't a good enough reason to not go see.

I'm gonna have a look.

out of the woods.

The words never crossed my lips, but I heard them in my head clear as a bell and cringed.  I do not espouse to the implications of the phrase "we're not out of the woods yet" and grit my teeth whenever I hear it used.

But there I sat pondering another long and not nearly as fruitful as I would've wanted day and week of work.  I'd been falling further and further behind as deadlines loomed ever larger.  My to-do list was not acquiring any checked boxes and each day seemed to bring unexpected issues that required prioritization.  My spirits were flagging and my body was threatening to slide as well.  Trying to play catch up from home was cutting into my allotted hours of sleep and, even once I did put head to pillow, slumber often proved hard to come by.

Progress had occurred that afternoon but as I made a mental checklist of the week to follow, I recognized that this wave of work had not yet crested.

And that's when my subconscious reached for that preposterous phrase.

At 11 years of age, I moved with my family to a small church-owned campground in northern Lancaster County where my father served as the groundskeeper/chief fundraiser and my sister and I became camp mascots.  Though much of the camp's 87 acres consisted of leased farmland and developed facilities, there was also plenty of woodland to be explored.

Into the woods I went and, spiritually and emotionally, I don't think I've ever come back out, not fully, and I have not intention of doing so.

The phrase that I am railing against implies danger, a threat.  I've felt neither while under the forest canopy, certainly not like I have in the dark shadows of civilization or in unknown company.  People have asked why I'm not afraid of animals or the criminals who are rumored to lurk along well-established trails.  To the former, I can think of few native animals worthy of fearing and even amongst those, the likelihood of their taking any interest in me and my crashing about in the woods feels very remote.  As to the humans, I don't see any reason to distrust one in the woods anymore than I do on a city street or a suburban parking lot.  Which is not to say that I don't distrust them.

The fact of the matter is I turn toward not away from the woods when the weight of the world presses down.  And that is where I headed the very next day and much of that weekend.  It wasn't until that Monday morning that I realized that my Achilles was not behaving normally.

Before I begin the next sentence, I would like to explain that the sound you're hearing is me knocking the crap out of any and all nearby wood.  I have enjoyed several years of relatively injury free existence.  I've had numerous dings, bumps, cuts, bruises and oh so many aches, but I've managed to avoid the need for crutches and haven't seen a cast or a protective boot in a good long time.  But the pain just above my heel was nothing I'd felt before and, frankly, I was worried.

Not only was I out of the woods but I just might be looking at some extended time away.  I laid low that week and work did plenty to fill those idle hours and allow me to pretend that it was the reason I wasn't running.  It wasn't.

A short run the following Sunday confirmed that a week without running hadn't diminished my discomfort.  I was pretty sure it was time to see a doctor but I decided to reach out to friends to see if they could weigh in.  Three separate inquires to trusted to sources with detailed explanations of my recent activities, the appearance of the pain and the symptoms I was experiencing prompted three nearly identical responses that were unwavering in their diagnosis of Achilles tendinitis.  A malady probably brought on by a too aggressive switch to minimalist footwear without any backing off of mileage or accounting for the severity of terrain.

Oops.

I was pretty bummed and wasted energy by childishly feeling sorry for myself.  I NEEDED to be able to run to counterbalance the stresses of work.  This was, of course, nonsense but I was genuinely feeling low.  However, I hadn't just been given opinions, I'd also been gifted some suggestions for stretching and strengthening the tendon while continuing to run, if in a slightly less aggressive fashion than I would prefer.

I've taken the advice and been surprisingly disciplined in doing so.  I've set aside my most stripped down shoes for the moment with hopes of easing them back into rotation after I've established a better overall leg strength to better accommodate their use.  Thankfully, I'm still in relatively minimalist offerings that continue to allow me to enjoy life away from overbuilt shoes.  I've been diligently alternating between ice and heat on my Achilles and am sticking to gentle, controlled stretches that seem to be helping.

I am back on the trail and have been there with the company of dear friends.  I'm not sure that they know how important it is for me to be there or how much it means to have them there with me...but it is and it does.  Life is good in other ways too with Piper Bea turning two and Lily just days away from her 4th birthday.  Lindsay is making high marks in her classes and nearing the end of the semester and her much deserved reward of a week away in Jamaica.  I received word that I will get to traipse around the wilds of southern Utah the last week of April, putting some good gear to the test and, with a little luck, getting in some early morning Escalante runs.

All isn't perfect.  Work is still demanding and the leg is certainly not 100%.  In fact, if it'll make you happy, I'll go ahead and say it.

"I'm not outta the woods yet."

Thank goodness.

where the hell have i been?

I just realized how long it's been since I've posted anything on here and, frankly, I'm embarrassed.  In my mind I'm constantly composing written sentences but most of those compositions slip away and are never heard from again. Words and ideas come and go and I suspect little is lost in their vanishing.  Every now and then, though, there are minor gems and looking back over the last several weeks, I'm disappointed to have allowed so much time to pass without any attempt at documentation.  Somewhere in all those ponderings there must have been something worth keeping.

So, having no words to draw upon, I'll turn to my camera for a look back at some of what's been keeping me so busy.  Don't expect a comprehensive retelling...if we were talking baseball, you'd be getting the Sportscenter recap not a full start to finish ala Ken Burns.  And for that, you're welcome.

Friends came over and played in the backyard.  Beer was consumed, the earth was scorched and cardboard boxes provided shelter from the wind if not the smoke.

The first ever Philadelphia Beard and Moustache Championships were held in, you guessed it, Philadelphia.  My beard morphed into a moustache that left the judges unimpressed.  The boys were undaunted, however, and let me anchor our group photo.  Old friends were embraced, new friends were established and good times rolled.  The next morning brought short-lived dehydration and a race home for kickball with other beloved friends.

The moustache got its wish and was allowed to run.  And it has kept on running ever since.  Thirty+ mile weeks have returned and my legs are feeling stronger each day.  Twofers are becoming routine and bike riding has been incorporated into the weekly routine.

April brings trout lilies and reminds me of the joys of new life, of children.

Piper Bea turned one on Easter Sunday.  She was oblivious but radiant nonetheless.  Lily, at 3, was in full egg-collecting mode and returned home with ample booty.

The Lancaster Skill Share Collective hosted a weekend of DIY and self-sufficiency workshops.  With Pipe nestled on my back, I attended a session on edible plant identification and damn near ate every square growing inch of Lancaster County Park.

The Lancaster County Bart und Schnauzer Friendship Society pub night delivered on the promised camaraderie and shared laughter.  A Steely Dan album was sacrificed in the pursuit of fun.

Lily's face says it all...running together rules.

Spring, my friends, has sprung.