Semper Avanti—Always Forward

Seemingly  all of Indianapolis turned out on May 4, 2013 to watch or participate in the 37th edition of the 13.1-mile Mini-Marathon. It was an overcast grey day with temperatures in the mid-50s--perfect running weather. I was in the front third of over 30,000 runners, joggers, walkers and those who didn't know what they were doing. All were anxiously awaiting the signal to start. Some stood quietly; others bounced up and down. A few attempted stretches or tried to squeeze ahead through the masses--as if it really made a difference. 

The 5K runners, all 4,000 of them, had left a half hour ago. They get the early start but we get the Grand Prix, so to speak. We get to run the 2 and a half miles of the Indianapolis 500 racetrack!. It's 7:33 a.m.  OK folks, start your engines. There's the starting signal! We're off--6 miles through city streets and back roads for a chance to circle the world-famous Indianapolis Speedway.

The crowd of runners is so dense it takes nearly eight minutes to reach the starting line of the race. Until then, we just shuffle forward. Those further back must shuffle for the better part of a half hour. Thank God for chip timing! Once across the timing carpet things begin to open up, although there's a lot of lateral running--left, right, slow down, speed up. It's a couple of miles before you can choose a pace and stick to it. The anticipation runs high as the numerous small bands along the way get us pumped up for the grand circuit of the track.

After the first mile, we've left behind the tall buildings of downtown Indianapolis and crossed the White River. There on the right is the zoo. We wave to the elephant staring at us over the fence! Crazy humans! The rest of the way it's local neighborhoods--lots of spectators taking high-fives. There are no water stops for runners. Well, there are but in this area they're called Pit Stops. And there are plenty of them.

Eventually, the speedway looms ahead. Runners make a left turn down the tunnel, under the roadway and out onto the infield. A couple more turns and there we are, on the asphalt, the speedway opens before us. There are no tires squealing or engines roaring, just the sound of heavy breathing and feet striking the hard, black surface. The mere act of being on the speedway makes the legs move faster. We're in a race!

Over its 2 and a half course the speedway has four turns leading in and out of the highly-banked oval ends. On a whim, near the end of turn two I left the crowd, crossed to the right and ran to the outside top of the track. This was a very noticeable uphill climb. As I descended to rejoin the group, the steepness of the high bank was very evident as the gravity-assist propelled me back to the pack. This was one of the few hills in the race, and it was one of my own making! It also left me a minute or more behind those I was originally running with. C'est la vie.

One more turn and the horde of runners was headed to the Indy 500 finish line and the famous "Yard of Bricks" This yard-wide band of bricks crosses the speedway inches after the white finish line. The bricks are all that's left of the speedway surface that once lined the entire course in the early days of the Indy 500. Many runners paused to kiss the bricks--a tradition begun in recent years by the Indy 500 winning driver--drinking a bottle of milk and kissing the bricks. As for me, I couldn't see kneeling down to kiss a brick. Would I be able to get back up again? Besides, my concern was whether there was enough gas in the tank to get me to that other finish line 5 miles away.

But, not to worry, I did make it to the finish line, a little slower than I would have liked, at 1:55:14. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable run with plenty of refreshments along the way.  The bands were small but numerous and entertaining. Lots of enthusiastic spectators lined the course. Indianapolis has some great monuments and museums, lots of civil war and western U.S. history. With its canal and river trails, it's a great walking and running town. A tour of the speedway the day after  the mini-marathon was well worthwhile. On Memorial Day over 300,000 people pack the Yard for the annual Indy 500 race: the biggest one-day event in the sporting world.

Five members of San Francisco's Dolphin South End (DSE) Runners braved the early morning chill on Saturday, March 31st, 2018 to experience a relatively recent addition to the Bay Area Trail System, the new Oakland Bay Bridge, spanning from Emeryville to Yerba Buena Island. Walkers, runners and bikers can now cross to Yerba Buena on a spanking new bridge. From there the road connects to Treasure Island, providing additional miles of exercise, if one so desires, and some fabulous views. --More in the book

The Main Street Mile is an annual rite-of-spring event held on a Wednesday evening every April in the north Maryland small town of Westminster.    

The beauty of the Westminster race is the speed of the course. It’s a straight, downhill run from the top of Main Street to the finish in the center of town. It’s a downhill course but not overly steep. From start to finish the drop is about 145 feet—enough of a drop to favor speed, but not so much as to stress the quads and hamstrings. The straightaway means there are no turns to interfere with the gravity-fed momentum. But few things are perfect. There is one hitch to be encountered. In that last quarter mile, the road levels off, then does a very slight uphill, before diving again to the finish. At high speed, that slight rise can be a speed killer.

At the end of the race... I coaxed my legs into obeying orders and began a slow walk, following other runners to receive our just reward—the ice cream sundae. 

Never did ice cream taste so good and be so deserving. Plus, there was even time for seconds! I had finished well ahead of those ravenous school kids! --More in the book 

The Antietam Civil War Battlefield was a 2-hour drive from my home in Severna Park, Maryland. The 8:30 a.m. start meant an early Sunday morning wake-up on this June 4, 1995. As a student of history, this race had a special interest to me. I had visited the battlefield a few times in the past. It's a great way to learn what went on here, to walk the battle, to drive or ride a bike through its past. This would be my first attempt to run along the roads and paths that connect us with the men who fought and died here on September 17, 1862. --More in the book

It was a bitterly cold, overcast Sunday morning in February as runners gathered in the NW corner of Baltimore's Patterson Park near the iconic Victorian pagoda. Jumping up and down, running in place, discarding extra clothing only in the last seconds--they did their best to keep warm while awaiting the starting bell. 

The race course weaved down through the park’s paved trails on an easy downhill slope for about a mile before turning right across the bottom and then beginning a return climb over new paths back to the pagoda—basically an inside circuit of the park. When runners returned to the pagoda, they had completed the full 2-mile course. That was the easy part. Our task was to repeat this four more times!

I kept my eye on the prize as I avoided frostbite and completed the five laps that first year, finishing in 1:05:03. The prize: a nice—but slightly frozen—cherry pie. All finishers received a pie to commemorate George Washington’s confession that he did, indeed, chop down his parent’s cherry tree. 

On crossing the finish line, I removed my knit cap and was surprised to see a quarter  inch thick circle of ice on its top—apparently the damp, heated air rising from my head froze in place and accumulated there. I also had to be very careful with my mustache; icicles were precariously hanging down both sides. Yes, it was cold that day.

The Catalina Island Conservancy has offered volunteer vacations on Catalina Island for several years. In July 2005 I spent several days there camping with a dozen other folks. We collected seeds to restore native plants, helped regrow habitats for wild animals, built campgrounds for hikers, and cleared out non-native plant species. While there, I had the opportunity for some evening runs along Catalina’s back roads and trails.

Early one evening, I did a 9-mile out and back trail run along the hilltops from our Conservancy campsite to the island’s airport high above the port of Avalon. The air remained hot and dry as I ran in tank top and shorts and wore a backpack carrying water, energy gel and camera.

The buffalo were stirring on my return trip to basecamp. There have been about 150 buffalo on the island ever since they were imported here for a movie shoot in the 1920s. Unfortunately, the buffalo scene was left on the cutting room floor.

As I approached the buffalo they were meandering in the road and in grassy patches on both sides. At this point I slowed to an easy walk and, since there was no way around on either side, passed through the middle of the pack, not making eye contact with any of the big guys. Buffalo can be as tall as 6 feet and weigh up to a ton. I didn’t want one of these critters stepping on my running shoes... --More in the book

Hundreds of runners gathered in the usually quiet English town of Bungay. It was Sunday morning, April 9, 2000, the weather sunny but cool. Situated northeast of London not far from the North Sea, it’s the scene of the centuries-old hauntings of a marauding and fearsome black dog. It’s also the home of the Black Dog Full and Half Marathons. 

I finished the half marathon and, needless to say,   

with a time of 1:32:00 I was not the overall winner. But I did finish! I was also silently thankful not to have to run another 13.1 miles in the full marathon. There were no black dog sightings and no black cats for that matter. Given the sometimes-gruesome tales of the Black Dog, it would have been much more fitting if nature had provided an appropriately dark and foggy morning for this race. Nevertheless, I did not intend to turn down some warm post-race sunshine...

About that haunting: The black dog that prowls the Bungay countryside first made its appearance during a nasty summer storm in 1577. During the storm, villagers fled to the parish church for protection. But a tremendous lightning strike hit the church, toppling the steeple. Winds blew open the church doors and a large, ferocious black dog caused havoc when it raced into the church. Two parishioners cowering in the pews were mauled to death...  One of the eeriest events involved yours truly four days after the race. I had returned to the States and sat channel-surfing in front of the telly (TV). Suddenly, the image of a large black Labrador caught my attention. It was the Animal Planet cable channel with a special program about animal hauntings. Imagine the chill that went down my spine. I sat mesmerized. At that very instant they were discussing the bizarre tale of the black dog that haunts several villages in southeast England, including the town of Bungay. Was this just a coincidence or a curious message from beyond; a hint this tale should not be taken lightly?  --More in the book

The Boston Marathon is one of the premier races in the world. First run in 1897, it has never missed a year since, even through two world wars. It’s the world’s oldest annual marathon. The marathon is special because participants must earn qualifying finish times in a previous marathon sometime over the previous 18 months. The qualifying times are in 5-year increments from age 18-34 to age 80 and over...

Near the end of that first mile, I saw many runners stopping amidst a stand of trees to my right. There had been little chance of a bathroom break in the hour leading up to the start, so men and women alike took the opportunity to relieve themselves in nature’s lavatory. In the category of “I didn’t know it could be done,” a woman with her back to me, was standing upright among the men, legs apart, holding her shorts to one side and watering the grass. No time for squatting. There was a race to be won... 

I hadn’t studied the marathon course very deeply, so I didn’t know about the four Newton hills encountered between miles 16 and 21. All I was told by fellow runners was that Heartbreak Hill would be the major challenge of the course and there would be a statue of a famous Boston marathoner at its start. As it turned out, both were somewhat misleading. 

I never did see the tribute statue to the famous John Kelly, a runner who had finished 61 Boston Marathons. Because of this, I made my way up and over the four hills still looking for the statue and thinking Heartbreak Hill was yet to come. Around mile 22 I asked a fellow runner when we’d be hitting the Heartbreak climb. To my astonishment, he said it’s back there. We just passed it... --More in the book

Because U.S. forces were on increased alert due to the September 11, 2001 terrorist attack on the Pentagon, and passing the building had always been an integral part of the Marine Corps Marathon, the status of the event was in serious question until three weeks prior its scheduled start. 

Post-9/11 approval for the run by the Commandant of the Marine Corps was contingent upon a new security plan. With approval in place, mile 5 on the course now gave runners an up-close view of the damage the terrorists inflicted on the Pentagon. Many 2001 finishers agreed this was a very special year. More than 14,000 runners from 50 states and 39 countries completed the race.  

The big change for runners is what they would see as they rounded the Pentagon near mile 5. There to our right was the west-facing section of the Pentagon where the plane crashed on 9/11, killing all 59 passengers and 125 Pentagon employees inside the building.

It was a cool fall day as thousands of us passed by the charred and tarpaulin-shrouded destruction wrought by the crash. The emotion in the air was palpable. In a minute it was all behind us. But that minute was a solemn one. Voices were stilled. Only the clopping of the shoes could be heard. I silently paid my respects and said a prayer. 

When I signed up for this race in May 2001 no one would have thought that such destruction was possible on American soil--at New York’s World Trade Center, in a Pennsylvania field, and at the symbol of American military power—the Pentagon. We must never forget.  

--More in the book

This run from the Grand Canyon’s North Rim to its South Rim was not a formal marathon. But given the opportunity to participate in such an adventure, there was no hesitation. Another plus was that George, a runner I knew from the Tamalpa Runners Club in Marin, California would be doing all the planning. George was an avid long-distance runner and had conquered the Canyon’s trails the previous year. His goal was to make this an annual event and to open it to like-minded adventurers. Jim, another San Francisco Bay area runner, would be joining George and me to experience what the Canyon had to offer.

The morning of our run, we parked near the North Rim Trailhead amongst the tall pines and yellow aspens. At 6:30 a.m. the temperature was in the low 40s and the sun was just barely peeking at us through the trees. By 7 a.m. we had moseyed over to the Kaibab Trailhead and were now eager to get the adventure underway. Our destination point was the Bright Angel Trailhead, 24 miles across the Colorado River at the top of the South Rim. My route would eventually turn this into a 26-mile excursion...

Eventually, I stepped out onto the South Rim, looking around for the welcoming party. To my surprise, except for a few tourists, the place was nearly empty. I remember it being somewhere around 1:15 p.m. My fabulous 6-hour challenge was over! But where was that cold soda and sub I expected from our supporters? Could it be that I had taken the wrong trail and arrived miles from the expected finish? And where were George and Jim? Did they pass me by as I whiled away the minutes with my feet in the Colorado? Did they finish ahead of me and are now waiting at some other trailhead? These are questions that went through my mind...  --More in the book

This was the 32nd running of the Berlin Marathon. I was there amidst a very international field with supposedly 39,882 registered runners, by far the largest field for any marathon I’ve ever done. This was my 21st.  It was a gloriously sunny morning in the heart of Berlin’s Tiergarten area. The temperature was perhaps 55-60 degrees and there was no wind to speak of. I had walked to the starting area from my rented apartment about a mile away. The walk was sufficient to get limbered up and in the mood for heavy movement. Runners were formed up in groups based on previous marathon performance, placing me in the front quarter. That put me in probably 5,000th place and the race hadn’t even started!

The Berlin course is almost completely flat. No hills to speak of. Accordingly, the world record at that time of 2:04:55 was set here in 2003. Moving onto the Boulevard Strasse des 17 Juni to take my place in the field, I stood on my toes and peered over the heads of the masses. I could see the Brandenburg Gate a quarter mile or so behind us. Ahead were the start line banner and, a quarter mile beyond that, the gilded angel of victory atop the 233-foot triumphal column of the Siegessaule. The starting horn sounded at 9 a.m., hundreds of white balloons rose into the air, and feet began moving up and down. They weren’t going anywhere, just up and down. Eventually came the surge forward and we were underway...

One last thought. Much like President Kennedy in June 1963 when he said, “Ich bin ein Berliner” (I am a Berliner), I feel an affinity for and friendship toward the people of Berlin. Some linguists; however, say that Kennedy’s translator gave him the wrong words and what he really said was “I am a little doughnut.” In that city, a “Berliner” is a little powdered-white doughnut. Perhaps that’s why the thousands of Berliners gathered in front of City Hall gave Kennedy such a rousing ovation. Here, was a world leader, with a sense of humor!  

--More in the book

Like all countries in the European Union, and in nearly all the world for that matter, France is on the metric system. Length, capacity and weights are measured in meters, liters and grams, respectively. If you are out for a run in France, whether on the backroads of Provence or the streets of Paris, you’ll enjoy the views and probably see local citizens also enjoying a run. In the country environs like Provence and other regions, there are castles, vineyards and quaint villages to pique your interest while running or walking along. In Paris, there’s nothing like running along the River Seine or around the Eiffel Tower. On any excursion, a Garmin or other GPS device will always give you an accurate readout of your distance, route and other details, in miles or kilometers...

As a tourist who runs, there is an opportunity to venture further afar, in less time than the casual walker. I remember going for a run one morning while staying at the small French town of Arromanche, along the coast of Normandy in the area of the Allied D-Day invasion of WWII. As I ran, I encountered great views of the beach and English Channel, local monuments, old German concrete pillboxes, and the remnants of WWII artificial harbors (“Mulberry’s”) in the sea. I paused along the way to savor the experiences. Later, I’m the pedestrian tourist returning to some of these same sights for a closer examination. 

--More in the book

It was December 2016. It all started routinely enough. The 10K race in San Francisco got underway and I moved along with the crowd, working my way up slowly from the back. But after just a mile and a half of the 6-mile race I began to gasp for air, my heart beating rapidly, I felt drained of energy. As much as I resisted, a brief walk was essential to get my system back on track.

In recent events this walk break had become a regular symptom of my running. But this day it started earlier and repeated itself several times during the 6 miles. The crowning touch occurred when my running partner glided past me in the last mile and crossed the finish line well in front. This had never occurred before. It was time to see the doctor. Three months later I was in the operating room having open heart surgery to prepare bypasses for three clogged arteries. That was in March 2017. One day after surgery, while attached to tubes and various devices, I walked a mere 20 feet before returning exhausted to my hospital bed. The next day I walked to the end of the hall. The road to recovery had begun...  

The road back was stretched out before me. I knew there would be ups and downs, twists and turns, rocks and roots to be encountered—but enough about the Dipsea Trail. The task ahead has not been a bed of roses, and there are still mountains to climb; however, my recovery has been greatly eased by the professionalism, the caring, and the encouragement of the John Muir Hospital staff, my friends and family, and the San Francisco Bay Area running community.  --More in the book