Don't know that these Go Runs will see another run, but I thank them for hanging on.

I have this reoccurring dream where I am running, but I can’t move. Like I am running through water or mud and in the dream, I grab the ground and roots and trees and anything I can to propel myself forward.

Yesterday, I lived that dream at the 2012 Cross Timbers trail half marathon.

As I mentioned earlier on the blog, I signed up for this run as part of my resolution to not take running so seriously and to do fun new things. It was an amazing remedy for the symptoms — self-doubt, feelings of inadequacy, self-pity — that have been plaguing me since my November marathon.

Because of some chaos at home (nothing unusual) I sleep only about three hours Friday night. It rains all night long. Wake up at 4 a.m., drink about 40 ounces of strong coffee — this and adrenaline gets me through the 2 hour (dark and drizzly) drive.

Hari and Steve at the finish.

This will be my first trail race ever and it is going to be rainy and muddy. The difficult and unprecedented conditions mean no expectations. No pressure. Just go have fun. Perfect.

I love the trail race mentality compared to the road race. So low key. Get your number, line up, follow the little white flags. Seems simple enough. The race starts out on the road so runners can thin out according to speed.

I position myself behind the fastest two women and three high school boys who are holding a funny conversation. During the first 30 minutes or so of the trail it is all fun — people  joking, we are moving along, though there is a heavy layer of mud. On a downhill very early on, the leading female tells me to go ahead. I had planned to follow her for a while, but I can’t physically go slow on the downhills at this point, so I pass her and fall in behind two guys.

There is a lot of climbing up and down hills, but I manage to stay upright. We go through the first aid station at 2.5 miles and I take some electrolytes in the form of some terrible liquid called Heed.  At about 40 minutes in, one of the guys I am following looks back at me and goes: Have you run this before? And I go, No. And he says, It is a really difficult race and usually really slow.

Me and Hari at the finish.

So I have heard, I say. I know what he is trying to tell me: that I am going too fast and that I won’t last. Maybe so, but I need to follow someone; I am really scared of getting lost. I back off a little, knowing they are probably right, but I keep them in my sight.

Along the route there are short stretches where you can actually run and I run those at what I felt is a tempo pace (I had no watch, no mile markers, so I could only go by feel). Following the lead of others, I power walk the really steep uphills. Some of those I crawl, grabbing trees and roots in order to pull myself up. The downs are tricky — some I literally ski down, like I am on snow.

I don’t look up from the ground much, but at one point I glance out over the ledge and catch a great view of Lake Texoma. It is surreally gorgeous and I smile — I am so genuinely happy to be here! I begin passing some of the warriors such as Dallas runner Libby Jones who started the marathon version of this race a half-hour before us.

This, I think, is the Cross Timbers race director.

About an hour to an hour and a half in (still no concept of time) I am thrilled to see the frontrunners coming back through. The leader — a sinewy guy with a long red beard under a knit cap — embodies the competitive trail runner.

At the halfway rest station, there are all sorts of goodies — sodas, Gatorade, bananas, candy, cookies. I am loving trail running more and more. I try not to linger too long. As I shoot out of the tent, I see four or so girl runners who aren’t too far behind me. I tell them great job and tell myself You are OK. You don’t need to be first. If they catch you, there’s no shame in it.

Then, I have to add, But, since you happen to be in this position, you DO have to try your best to keep it.

Also at the turn around I see a familiar face, Hari Garimella, my friend from the White Rock Running Co-op, who also decided on a whim to come do this thing. I give him a big hug and take off.

Here's a portion of the muddy trail shot by runner Bryan Moore.

So, the way back is trickier than the way out. The mud has gotten muddier and slippery-er and thicker. Keeping my shoes on becomes a problem. I have to try to tighten the laces or else I will be barefoot. I fall hard one time — I rise with a thick layer of mud covering my butt and the backs of my legs. From trying to catch myself, I’m wearing mud gloves. I try to wipe my hands on the trees but just wind up getting an added layer of damp moss.

On some of the uphills, I begin to doubt my stamina. My knee is throbbing. I feel really tired, but then something such as falling or sliding down a wall of mud, or having to reach down with my hands to pull my shoe from a mud puddle takes my mind off of my fatigue and pain.

A few times, I laugh out loud or yell Whoa! as I slide down the side of a hill — I really am just playing in the mud. One guy passes me and says, You know, we are mentally ill? I laugh and think, Well at least we have a fine ensemble of enablers to organize  events for us. I also figure we are only moderately sick considering there are others in our midst doing 50 miles of this sh*t.

Another trail shot borrowed from Bryan Moore via Picasa.

There are about two guys who pass me on the way back, but I pass a few people myself. One might be the buddy of the guy who implied I was starting too fast. The last hill is an absolute joke. It is so steep and my legs are so tired that I am bent at the waist, holding the ground with one hand and with the other hand, physically lifting my other leg. I’m talking to my legs at this point too: Come on legs, move! Please!

A guy beside me here, doing about the same thing, says: So close to the end and I can’t move. I leave him. It is the words close to the end that launches me up the rest of that hill. Sure enough, I hear bells and cheering in the clearing. Then I see the clock and the finish line — 2:49 is good for first overall female in the half. Not a typo — a 2:49 half got me a first place!

The race director congratulates me and gives me a wooden plaque and a sweatshirt. And I head into the tent where wonderful volunteers serve hot soup, drinks, burgers and all kinds of goodies. Covered head to toe in mud, barely able to walk, eating delicious potato soup, feeling victorious for the first in a long time … life is just about perfect in this moment.

There was one guy about a minute ahead of me that seemed to be easing through the whole race (taking photos of the lake and then taking off as I approached) turned out to be another WRRC friend, Steve Griffin. Trail racing must be his forte (this was only his second ever). He never even looked tired. As I was lounging, I saw another friend Dave Renfro come through the finish line, but he — the 50-mile race leader — was only half done. Dave ended up winning the 50 miler.

I don’t think I will ever forget this race. I know dreams are symbolic of life’s deeper issues, so what does it mean to live out a reoccurring dream? I’m not sure, but it must be meaningful and therapeutic.

Also, my gluteus maximus, quads, back, shoulders, hips and knees won’t forget it for several days. #$%^, Ouch!

I’m only doing the halfer, while the other few people I know who are going are doing 26.2 or 50, so I sort of feel like a wimp, but, I don’t want to bite off more than I can chew here. Just testing the trail-run waters.

This is all part of my resolution to not take myself or my running so seriously and exploring unchartered (for me) territory. I will post a race report next week.

Meanwhile, I did find a couple of years past race reports out in the blogosphere — in this report from “The Naked Runner”, I learn for the first time that the course has a 5,500 elevation loss/gain.

This blogger says the five miler at Cross Timbers would be a perfect introduction for someone who has never run on trails. Five-13.1: close enough.

Over the weekend I was rooting around for my tights and gloves, since my long run featured 30-degree temps and high winds, but today, my (hill run day) features 65-degree temps and (OF FU*&ING COURSE) high winds again.

The last thing I want to think about when I prepare for a run is what to wear and I certainly don’t want to wind up out there inappropriately dressed – especially overdressed. That’s the worst.

That’s why I am digging this nifty ‘what to wear’ tool on Runnersworld.com. I saw it back in the summer and thought, pffft. I know what to wear — same every day.

But now, with all the confusion of winter, I’m all: yeah, please dress me, computer.

January 2011—Went to the 3M Half Marathon with my buddies from the White Rock Running Co-op. It was hot. Someone had told us 3M was all downhill. Now, we should have known that was too good to be true. Oh, and did I mention it was hot (and humid)? Nonetheless, we had a fine time and most of us had a decent performance, despite the day’s unwelcome sauna-ness.

3M Half in Austin, January 2011

February 2011—I’m injured, but I discovered Bikram Yoga, which I wrote about here.

March 2011—The Trinity River Levee Run. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with this race over the years. This time around, I didn’t plan on running it but that morning I was straggling and missed my group run so I decided at the last minute to run the levee. I placed third overall female in the 10k. I didn’t see many of my friends, like the year before (pictured), which might explain why I placed so high. The new course is quite good, not on gravel and I recommend it this year. Seriously. Go ahead and register for it.

Trinity Levee Run, March 2010

April 2011 —I went to Boston. Though I’d been injured, I decided at the last minute to run since I was registered. Crammed in some training runs, secured a room with my long lost cousin and his wonderful family, and had an amazing time. I mean, my marathon time wasn’t the best, but my experience was awesome. If you are at the Boston expo this year, I recommend seeing these guys; they really made my weekend.

May—Sister’s wedding in Las Vegas. When the rest were sleeping and nursing massive hangovers, I eased some stress by running around Las Vegas during the early morning hours.

A run down the strip

June—Mexico. My mother told me not to go running in Mexico, that my head would wind up in a bag. but I found the people of Playa Del Carmen to be quite friendly. The dogs, not so much, but the people: nice. Close second: night running.

One of several stray dogs encountered during run in Playa

Beach run

Futbol game breaks out

More beach run — 88 degrees at 8 a.m.

Can be a jerk

July—Too Hot to Handle 15k. It was one for the books; my training buddy Chris Stratton (below) did his usual summer routine which consists partly of mocking those of us who race in the Texas summer.

August—Area 51 half marathon. Note: from all the traveling, you’d think I was rich. Not true. I find flight deals and mooch off generous friends such as Marlena in San Diego (below), my sister in Las Vegas and my cousin Dan in Boston.

Marlena, the alien and me

September—met running legend Peter Snell and his wife, Miki. By the way, Snell is interviewed in this month’s Running Times; his name is on the cover under “Why Endurance Training Works”. Also in September, training season is underway. I love running with this group.

Peter Snell, our neighbor, in the small print

October—run with the squid. I brought my daughter, who joined her 8th grade cross country team this year, to a race, The Dallas Running Club’s Loop 15k at White Rock Lake. She ran her first ever 5k in about 30 minutes. To make things better, I had a perfect run that day. Second, traveled to Chicago with husband, went running in the rain and happened upon a race.

My daughter, Morgan — not quite ready to commit to running

November —Philly. As promised to myself when I wrote about my heartbreaking marathon, the painful memories have faded and what remains are lessons learned and recollections of a hell of a  fight to the finish.

The Philly crew - many incredible performances and a few bombs

December—White Rock. I didn’t run it — in fact I sat out the whole month of December with an injury — but I got to see lots of people finish a marathon in the rain, which is super cool. Also got to work the expo booth with my buddies from White Rock Running Co-op.

Happy New Year!

Last week as I was reading the book, as I often do, especially during challenging times, something new hit me from the “always do your best” section:

Moment to moment, your best will be different — better when you are healthy as opposed to sick, well rested as opposed to tired … Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret.

Here’s the kicker: If you try too hard to do more than your best, you will spend more energy than is needed and in the end your best will not be enough. When you overdo, you deplete your body and go against yourself and it will take you longer to accomplish your goal. But if you do less than your best, you subject yourself to frustrations, self-judgment, guilt, and regrets.

Allow me to repeat the part that blew my mind: If you try too hard to do more than your best, you will spend more energy than is needed and in the end your best will not be enough. When you overdo, you deplete your body and go against yourself and it will take you longer to accomplish your goal.

Holy shit. This is true. There are areas — baking, sending Christmas cards, returning phone calls and playing Guitar Hero, for example — where I do not always do my best and I do feel guilty about that sometimes, but this overdoing has impacted some of the more important-to-me areas of my life. I have determined that a particular magazine article was super important, for example, and worked too hard, written, fixed, rewritten and written again until it properly sucked — it’s like scrubbing the silver when what it really needs is a gentle polish. It goes dull or scratches rather than shining as it should.

My best stories are generally composed under a close deadline with barely enough time for researching, conducting interviews and pulling information together in story form (here, I cover all my bases to the best of my ability) but little time for obsessing and perfecting.

And, my god, has the overdoing touched my racing life. Perhaps this explains why my first marathon was successful. The weather was horrendous — 65 degrees with 30 mile per hour winds. Some of the most seasoned runners were dropping, but I, lacking the expectations and fears with which experienced runners are plagued, finished strong, in 3:44 (my goal at the beginning of the season had been a 4 hour marathon) and with a huge smile on my face. I had done my best that day. No more. No less.

That's me at the 2008 White Rock Marathon. Running happy.

Since that virginal marathon, I have poisoned much of my training with this attitude that I have to do more than my best. More miles than my peers, more obsessing, more perfecting, more worrying, more planning, more expectations, more pressure. That leads to less balance in my life, arguments with my husband, neglect of my children, guilt, less sleep, more stress and ultimately physical fatigue and injury.

Looking back at my training logs, there’s this point every season at which I am at my best —I am running well, happy, unstressed. And then when I get a couple months out from a very big race, I go into panic mode and start pushing. That’s why I often do better in tune-up races than in the big races.

For example, at the Dallas Running Club 15k Loop about six weeks before the “goal race”, Philadelphia, I ran my best ever 15k (in 1:04 :02) and came in third overall female. You know what I did? The next day I went out and ran 21 miles. The next weekend I bonked on our group 20-miler and my knee wet to hell.

The day of that 15k, I was doing my best. The next day, I was doing more than my best and it was the beginning of the end of my season.

WHY DID I DO THAT? That’s the money question which probably only a qualified professional could attempt to answer. But I do know this: I won’t do it again. This is going to be one of my most diligent promises to myself in the coming year.

Sitting here, unable to run, I am like a junkie in rehab. I did some dumb stuff, hit bottom and am now in recovery. When I reenter the running world, it will be with a renewed gratitude and sense of responsibility to myself.

Do me a favor, when you see me out next year, beaming after a peachy race, tell me to stop for a minute to enjoy it. Tell me to keep doing my best.

Remind me to not go and f*ck things up again. I’ll do the same for you.

All were severely injured; the most severely hurt was White Rock area resident Eric Nelson. Here and in my job at Advocate Media, I’ve written about the accident and his journey, as have all of our local media outlets, but this month, Eric and his fellow victims, Mary Oliver and Jay Newton, are featured in the national magazine, Runner’s World.

Bound by initially horrifying circumstances, the three keep in touch and occasionally run together. They call themselves “Team to Hell and Back”. Collectively, their wounds (physical and emotional) are still healing. Eric told the magazine that it was some time before he overcame his fear of returning to the White Rock Lake and running its trails.

However, the three ran the White Rock Marathon earlier this month. This is the second marathon this fall for Eric, who also ran the October 2011 Chicago Marathon. (He managed to break four hours at The Rock and seems well on his way to becoming as fast as he once was, with a 1:33 half and 3:31 marathon PRs.)

The Runner’s World article also mentions that former state representative, Lakewood resident Allen Vaught after the accident pushed to pass Eric’s Law: Unlicensed or uninsured drivers who cause serious harm to others in an accident may now face a year in jail and hefty fines.

The driver who nearly killed the trio of runners that day received a mere citation.

He will also likely become a pretty good golfer; even if he doesn’t go pro, he will be able to kick all of his friends assess, and that will be satisfying.

So I started wondering if this could ever apply to running. For lack of a better subject, I’ll use myself for example. I am a moderately above-average female runner (based on standings in race results in a wide variety of distances and races) who has been running for about four years. If I quit my job and worked with a trainer eight hours a day five days a week for the next five years, could I become an elite runner?

Hmm. Now, this hypothetical will require a complete suspension of disbelief, but say someone paid me about $50,000 a year to do this (so I could quit working), and I got complimentary one-on-one coaching from the best around, could someone like me become, say, a sub-3:00 marathoner in five years? (Bear in mind, I will be a masters-category female in five years; sub 3:15 is good for an elite entry in many marathons and under three is often good for a masters win).

Running is much different than golf or piano playing, so the first thing to consider would be injury prevention. Dan, the golf guy’s approach went something like this: he had to perfect a 3-foot putt before he could move on to a 5-foot putt and so on. In the first year, all he has practiced is little putts.

I think if you applied this to running, you’d need to start with the extreme fundamentals, namely retraining yourself to run in a way that will reduce the potential for injury. I believe that if one learns to run the proper way — Christopher McDougall style, perhaps  — and in footwear that encourages good form, much injury can be avoided. That would be the first phase. Re-learning to run.

Then, I would take the McMillian calculator and go backward from a 2:59 marathon. Based on that, my first goal would be to run 800 meters in 2 minutes 23 seconds. If I ever attained that, I would move on to attempt the 5:18 mile, the 18:22 5k, 1:24 half marathon and so on (just imagining that makes me want to stop writing now, but I’ll finish my thoughts)…

My awesome coach and I would also need to determine how those 8 hours each day would be spent. Obviously no one is going to run 40 hours a week for five years—at least I don’t think so. I would imagine that the 10,000 practice hours would comprise various exercise to improve form, weight or strength training, stretching or yoga, meditation and research (?) … and of course a lot of running too, I guess – hell, I’m not the coach.

The real interesting thing about Dan is the reasons why he says he’s doing the 10,000-hour golf experiment.

“Basically,” he told the people at a recent conference, “what I’m trying to do with this project is demonstrate how far you’re able to go if you’re willing to put in the time.

“I’m testing human potential.”

And it’s such an intriguing thought. I like the idea of testing potential. I could never run a 5:18 mile, my mind and experience tells me, but what if I worked hard and did? After I run the 5:18 mile, I start to believe I can do a little more … and then a little more … and then what?

Of course I could go off in another direction — I could dedicate my 10,000 hours, should I ever become independently wealthy, to medicine or music or some form of life-enhancing art — but I guess if you are going to spend 10,000 hours at something, it helps if you are sort of obsessed with it already.

Anyway, for now, my short-term goal is walking without a limp and getting through another 4-6 weeks of no running.

Here’s my little tribute to the White Rock Running Co-op, feat. other Dallas runners I recognized!

At 5:30 on a Wednesday morning at the corner of Corsicana and Park streets Downtown, two figures inside sidewalk sleeping bags snore, and a man in a thick hooded coat leans against The Bridge homeless shelter wall and puffs his cigarette. His gaze follows a few sweatshirt- and athletic-shoe-clad folks as they emerge from the building to join a similarly dressed group in the parking lot.

The bunch, 15 or so altogether, forms a wide circle. After a series of jumping jacks, stretches and a prayer — “God, grant me the serenity …” — they hit the streets.

Though they train during the wee dark hours, the Back on My Feet team, comprising homeless shelter tenants and volunteer runners, is gaining visibility around White Rock Lake.

Back on My Feet member Charles Smith finished the Dallas Running Club half marathon in 2 hours 30 seconds. / Photo by Miranda Krebbs

They appear in groups — you know them by their crisp white “Back on My Feet” T-shirts — at most Dallas Running Club events, which are held at Winfrey Point or Norbuck Park at Northwest Highway and Buckner.

The organization enjoys a partnership with East Dallas running outfitter Run On!, which donates shoes and gear and drums up volunteer participation.

BOMF’s 6- to 9-month program partners with central Dallas shelters including The Bridge, Dallas LIFE Foundation and Salvation Army to engage homeless populations in running as an avenue to confidence and self-sufficiency.

“Everyone starts with one mile — most have to run-walk that first mile,” says Lea Velez, director of BOMF Dallas, which launched last February.

Lea Velez leads a running group at The Bridge homeless shelter for those working to get back on their feet. / Photo by Can Türkyilmaz

In October several members raced a 9.2-mile race at White Rock Lake’s The Loop 15k, and some ran the 13.1-mile course at the Dallas Running Club’s November half marathon, which starts in Lake Highlands and winds around the lake and through Lakewood.

“It is amazing to see that type of progress take place. This kind of renews running for me,” says Velez, a university teacher with a background in social work and veteran of 36 marathons and four ironman triathlons. “I know that, personally, when I ran my first marathon, I felt that if I could get through some of the rough patches in the race, I could get through difficult things in other areas of my life.”

As the Wednesday morning runners pick up the pace, member Paula Turner lags behind. “Running’s not really my thing, but I like to come out and walk,” she says. “Lea (Velez) just ran a 26-mile race. If she can do that, I can come out and walk a couple miles.”

A few years ago Turner was living in a tent on the streets of Las Vegas.

“I came from a good family, my mother took me to the theater, we traveled — she raised me right. I had no one to blame for my problems but myself.”

After raising two children, she says, she developed a chemical addiction, which set off the problems that led to homelessness. (According to the 2010 census, about 31 percent of the homeless population reports “substance abuse” as the cause of their homelessness.)

Today, Turner is clean and for almost a year has been living at The Bridge. Her 25-year-old son, who has mental and physical disabilities, also is in The Bridge program.

The three-day-a-week pre-dawn exercise lends discipline and structure to Turner’s life, and she says she feels it is an important component in her overall rehabilitation, which also includes classes at El Centro College.

Group member Ed Fuller, who finishes his practice run out of breath, sweaty and with a smile on his face, says he is mentally stronger, physically healthier and has lost 50 pounds since joining Back on My Feet.

Team Back on M Feet trains before dawn three mornings a week. Runners interested in learning more or volunteering with Back on My Feet can attend an upcoming orientation at Run On! Register at dallas.backonmyfeet.org. / Photo by Can Türkyilmaz

“The running hurts, but once the run is over, I feel really proud of what I’ve done. If don’t give up during the races all the times I wanted to give up, you know, why give up now? Keep pushing and by the time it’s over, you’ll feel good about what you did.”

Members who maintain 90 percent attendance during the initial stage of the program advance to the Next Steps phase, during which they are eligible for job and educational training through Back on My Feet.

The three Back on My Feet teams have about 50 members, and 75 percent have moved on to Next Steps. Since the club’s formation less than a year ago, 61 members have run races, 25 have obtained employment, 11 have found housing and 27 have enrolled in job training or academic classes.

Some, such as 47-year-old Gloria Z. — a former gang member and heroin addict who joined Back on My Feet while she was staying at The Bridge — continue with the group even after they have found a home.

“The program turned out to be like a rock for me — gave me strength and helped my self-esteem,” Gloria says.

She ran a four-mile race last summer when the Dallas Running Club made BOMF a race beneficiary at its Bloomin’ 4 Mile. The group members threw a housewarming party when Gloria moved into her first apartment.

“They brought all their warmth and loving care to my house,” Gloria says. “Everyone who runs, they are my angels.”

• Learn more at dallas.backonmyfeet.org.

UPDATE: When I ran the Philadelphia, I encountered several BoMF Philly peeps. That one one of the 1st Back on My Feet branches!

*First published by East Dallas and Lake Highlands Advocate media, December 2011 issue.

Photo by Benjamin Hager

There will be millions of thoughts racing through runners’ minds on White Rock Marathon morning, Sunday, Dec. 4: “Am I on pace? How much farther? Man, I’m tired …” But most will not think once about all those orange pointy cones that line the 26.2-mile course. That’s left to Gary Wright, also known as “the coning guru.” He loves the sport, plus, he simply is the type of guy who happily gives of himself. In fact, when we catch up with him, he has just given blood, something he does regularly for a friend in need.

Someone told us you are the coning guru of White Rock Lake. How did you earn that nickname?
Hmm. More often than that I get called the “cone head.” I guess I started helping out with races back in 2002, with the Dallas Running Club. When the coning crew needed a hand, I helped out and learned how to set up a racecourse.

Do the cones go out the day of the race or sooner?
The morning of the race.

OK, so what does a typical White Rock Marathon day look like for you?
We meet at about 4:30 a.m. — there are three or four of us on three trucks. The third truck is the one that responds to problems that arise. That’s the one I’m on. Before race day, we drive the course and we get a list from the police of the locations we must cone for traffic safety. Then I work up the rest of the details — I try to envision what cues a runner might need. I will print maps for each section of the course identifying those spots. There are two main purposes for the cones: guide runners and block traffic.

How many cones do you use in The Rock?
1,200, give or take. They have changed the course slightly over the years, so it can vary. The lake section of the course really takes care of itself.

Then what?
Before and during the race, I answer any problem calls. My truck follows the so-called “sag wagon” (the vehicle that picks up runners who can’t finish the race). It follows the last runners on the course. I drive along behind it, if all is going as planned, and pick up the cones.

What is an example of a problem you might run into?
Well, once I got a call from police to come place a cone near a dangerous-looking pothole on McKinney. As I placed the cone, the lead runners were swiftly approaching and I barely got out of their way. Another time, a leading female runner in the half marathon got off course and when I saw her, she was running directly into three lanes of traffic. I got near her and she asked me where the course was. My voice was so hoarse from yelling at people all morning, all I could do was point.

Have you run the marathon yourself?
Yes, in the early ’90s I ran in The Rock for the first time. I’ve run it a few times, and other marathons.

How did you get involved in running?
I used do a lot of backpacking. I’d find myself in the altitude panting after a few minutes, so distance running became a means of conditioning. I knew a girl who went out and ran two laps around White Rock Lake one day [18-plus miles] and I thought, “I can do that.” Needless to say, there was a learning curve. But eventually I was able to cover that distance and more.

What motivates you to do things like give blood and volunteer, especially as the coning guy on whom so much responsibility is thrust?
I don’t know. [Pause.] I do get a sense of satisfaction looking out at all the runners and seeing that things are going well. I gain motivation from the charities served by the White Rock and other events — Scottish Rite Hospital [The White Rock Marathon beneficiary].

Early on I was involved with March of Dimes and their fundraising events because I had a sister who died of birth defects. My backpacking buddy, Mark, almost lost his son because of the same problem that affected her. Mark died from cancer about nine years ago. My girlfriend, Bobbie, also developed breast cancer three months after I met her. She had chemo, surgery and then radiation. The blood donations — those are for Renee, a fellow runner who got West Nile virus from a mosquito that bit her while she was running. It is making a difference. And that is really the point in both donating blood and marathon coning.

Questions and answers are edited for brevity.