Running, and the Long Game

I’ve had a long and gradual running progression that began in late January and ended with a 10k event, the Summer Sizzler, last week. This phase lasted as long as it did partly out of a hellbent intent to overcome a foot injury from a year ago. I had one ambition this year: to not only heal my foot, but to run faster than I ever had before.

That’s about 7 straight months of running volume buildup. I decided the 10k race would be as good an event to end this “phase” of running as any. As July acceded to August, I realized that it was time to rest the running muscles.

The Summer Sizzler 10k took place at Forest Park in Saint Louis on a cool and balmy Saturday morning. My legs felt reasonably fresh, though I had raced a 3200 meter timed event just a few days before.

The runners gathered near the start as the announcer counted down to takeoff. The course directions seemed barely marked, with only a smattering of signs pointing which way; I hoped that I wouldn’t get lost. I settled near the front of the starting line, only allowing some younger runners (I later discovered both were under age 20) to start ahead of me.

The race started and I felt the exhilaration of being part of a large group embarking on a quest, an army of feet smacking against earth, bodies darting up and down park hills. There is an initial adrenaline rush that makes speed feel easy for the first kilometer or so.

About two miles in, I passed one of the two young males ahead of me. I sensed some of his fatigue and decided to take advantage by accelerating to a higher place. I had no real “race” goals, but knew quickly that I was already in second place, that a hundred people were behind me, and that the leader was 18 years my minor.

I kept the leader in my field of vision as my hamstrings and quads pushed me up a long hill that spanned the entire third mile. Eventually I noticed the leader slowing and I realized that he wasn’t running a 10k; he was only running a 5k and finishing for the day. I still had half of my race remaining. This also meant that I was firmly in the lead for the 10k.

I held my pace steady for the second half, only fading on the final uphill mile of the course, to claim a victory and pose proudly for the camera at the finish. I had something to be proud of: a year ago, I was not sure if I’d ever run again. Crazier yet, in college, my 10k timed run was about 56 minutes, and that was almost 20 years ago. On this day at Forest Park, one year after tearing several ligaments in my right foot, I clocked 39 minutes and won. I felt the closure from my foot injury that I desperately needed.

I am 17 minutes faster in a 10k than I was 20 years ago. Time is an illusion. That excites me more than any finish. I believe that I still have ample room for improvement. Regardless of how much improvement is in store, even if there is actually none left, I intend to keep running for many years into the future.

I remind myself that I am not striving to maximize my performance. I am in what I call “the long game.” The long game, for me, supersedes any “short-term outcomes.”

The “long game” goal has nothing to do with place, rank, or time. The aim is to continue having active adventures well into my 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s. I’d rather be the first centenarian to bike across Europe than a winner of any near-term race. I plan on signing up for plenty of events and having fun with all of them, but the long-game is where I set my sights.

Playing the long game helps put my exercise into perspective. So many people frown while they run, eyes glued to GPS watches, their banter mostly about boring adult things such as stride length and cadence.

All those things are relevant to running, certainly, but a soul tethered to a watch will inevitably miss the joy of gliding through summer air on two feet, for miles on end, possessing the ability to outlast every other animal on this earth with human endurance. It is the closest we can get to our ancestors as they persistence hunted their prey, running until their targets collapsed and their bodies crashed to the earth.

If affixed to a watch, how can one have the courage to accelerate madly downhill with a smile on the face and a childlike reckless mentality? Steady pace is the way of the watch. Steady pace can be boring, though it does have value in allowing for time to connect and chat with other people. There is no gambling, however, in steady pace. I think we need to gamble every so often. Still yet, the eyes that only see clocks will miss the wildlife that envelopes the environment.

In playing the long game one can appreciate longevity. I do not necessarily mean life longevity. How much exercise can actually extend lifespan is debatable (probably not as significant a factor on lifespan as our genetics). However, I do believe that the quality of our years spent on this planet can be extended. I’d rather be a 60-year-old still running like a 20-year-old than a 60-year-old struggling to mount a flight of stairs.

So the 10k was exciting. It was fun, it put me in a great mood, and it left me planning the next run. It brought back the adrenaline rush I always felt from competition. Winning and breaking 40 minutes were welcome surprises. To quote Ozzy Osborne, “I don’t wanna stop.”

But now that 10k is in the past. The medal I was awarded is a bit of history. Life moves on to the next event and the next adventure.

Right now, I’m resting the running legs for my birthday month and focusing on cycling. Running will pick up again in September.

Next week, to combat mortality and 37 years on planet earth, I will bike up the Eastern United States, from Virginia to Pittsburgh. It will take several days and hundreds of miles.

It’s the next adventure, and a relevant stage in the long game.

Chasing the Personal Best

I had a pretty nasty bike crash last week. I was zipping through downtown and encountered a construction zone near the Convention Center Plaza. I made a left turn for a detour, thinking the detour road would be mostly smooth pavement, only to have my front tire hit a jagged crevice in the tarmac. My bike went over sideways and I crashed on my right side.

Lesson learned: never assume the road ahead will provide a smooth ride.

I slid over the pavement and felt the road peel away the skin on my right leg. My elbow and hip collided against the street with a thud. I knew immediately it wasn’t a light crash. I wished that I had been watching the road more carefully.

I looked around and realized that I was alone on that street. It was the cusp of dawn and the sun’s climb toward the horizon had rendered the streets in shades of lavender and indigo. I levered myself up and attempted to limp back home while carrying my bike. My apartment was only three blocks away. The bike derailleur broke, as did the hanger and chain. The handlebar tape tore up. The bike and I broke together.

I limped home and showered off the blood, then bandaged myself up. I had no anger or regret: the crash already happened and there’s no rewind button on time.

As the hours ticked by, my right elbow went numb and I realized that it was sprained. The sprain was not as severe as the foot injury I suffered a year ago, but I also knew that it would take several weeks to heal. By nightfall, there was almost no mobility in the elbow.

I joked that because the higher powers couldn’t injure my feet while I ran, they decided to hand me the occasional bike crash. We all need setbacks, after all.

Because of the elbow injury, I was unable to bike the rest of the week. So, I ran while maintaining my right arm in a position that was awkward yet comfortable. Each day, a little mobility returned to the arm.

This week was supposed to be my “season ending” running week. I had scheduled a 1600 meter timed run and a 10k run. I wanted to see what progress I had made over the last year, since healing my ankle injury from 2021. It was not ideal to be nursing a bunch of scrapes and bruises, as well as a sprained elbow, this week.

I believe that the body and mind treat all stresses the same: as a gravitational push downward on performance. Whether these stresses are from injury, emotions, or heavy exercise, stresses are essentially quicksand. Stresses are what age us.

My 1600 meter run was Wednesday night and when I showed up at the track to warm up, I felt surprisingly light. I still felt elbow pain but also accepted it as a part of life. Shit happens. Things break and sprain. Sometimes you fully heal, sometimes you mostly heal, and unfortunately, sometimes you just don’t heal at all.

I decided to look for someone in the race that seemed fast and just try to hang with them. I noted a young college-aged male in my group and overheard him saying that he was aiming for some fast times. So, I decided to try and run behind him for as long as I could.

I crossed the first 1600 meters (about a mile) and saw that I ran it in 5 minutes and 20 seconds. That was faster than the fastest 1600 meter run of my life, and I still had another half of the run to go! By my own standards I was flying. I felt fresh and limber. The college guy was just one stride ahead of me. I was keeping up. Everyone else was far behind us.

It wasn’t until the final lap of the 3200 meter run that the college guy pulled ahead by a few seconds. However, I finished the run in 10 minutes and 50 seconds. It was by far the fastest run of my life. A “personal best.”

I shook the college guy’s hand (he went for a fist bump and I awkwardly went for a handshake, being the old fart that I am). I was thankful because it is competition that brings out the best in us. I never would have broken 11 minutes had he not set a good pace for me.

I’m nearing age 37 and appreciate now, more than ever, any sort of personal best time in an athletic event.

The elbow is healing. Maybe when I was 21 I’d feel anger and resentment about my crash. That is the advantage of the late 30’s. Whereas earlier in life there might be a certain paranoia over outcome and control, I’ve finally gotten to a point where I can say, “to hell with it, let’s just roll with the punches.”

My 10k is tomorrow and I think it’ll be fun. I did a 10k in college and my time was 56 minutes. I know I’ll be significantly faster than that. I’ll hit a personal best time, smile, and celebrate with some coffee.

And that’s life. You hit some crashes, you do your best to recover, and you gear up for the next race.

Let’s hope there’s a next race tomorrow.

Party Like It’s ‘99

On Wednesday I finally saw Rob Zombie live for the first time. He was my favorite solo artist in high school and I still listen to his hits from time to time.

Rob Zombie is immortal. He possesses more energy and vitality than lead singers half his age. He’s highly mobile throughout his show and rocks the dance moves of a lithe professional dancer. He’s a perennial headliner for a reason. Viewing the elaborate stage setup at his show is like glimpsing into another gothic world. His bandmates are also perfectionists. John 5, the lead guitarist, is possibly the most skilled soloist I’ve ever watched. The guy can flat-out shred.

Zombie is currently 57 years old and looks as lean and fit as ever. He’s also vegan and has been vegetarian since childhood. This is noteworthy to me because most long-lived cultures I read about eat a relatively large portion of natural carbohydrates and a relatively lower amount of meat (not all, but most). I am not vegan, but I often consider this.

What was my takeaway from watching my teenage idol perform at a crowded amphitheater in front of thousands of fans? Love what you do.

Do I love what I do? I find myself yearning for my hours when I’m free. I love cycling and have gained an appreciation for running. I love connecting with other runners and cyclists who share similar goals, who find themselves aging, yet are eager to accomplish physical feats that they never have before. But that’s not what I do.

An aspiring marathoner told me on our jog last week that he’s training to “give his son a story of something that he accomplished.” That’s what I enjoy learning about: people on their journeys, and how those journeys parallel my own. What can I learn from them? How many miles can we actually crank out together? What is our true limit on this planet?

“Love what you do.” Watching Zombie was a reminder that I need to write more and create more content.

The Way Things Were

I had a dream that, like many dreams, was likely an assemblage of recent events tossed around in random order. Or maybe the order wasn’t random.

In the dream I was somewhere in the Midwest and was told by a relative that a new doctor was rising in fame with an offer to fix any physical imperfection, on any volunteer, through surgery. I thought about this proposition for a bit and then signed up to make some alterations on my face.

The doctor had a team pick me up for the surgery and place me in the bed of a pickup truck. I second-guessed my decision on the way to the medical facility (can’t I accept myself as I am?) and jumped out of the truck at a stoplight. Relieved, I started walking home until suddenly a car zigzagged through a red light and hit me.

With a newly disfigured face from the car crash, I backtracked again and took the surgeon up on the offer, wishing to have my face carved into what it was before the car crash. The dream fast forwarded in a flash to after the operation. By all visible indications I looked like I did before the crash.

However, in the dream the car crash left my mind deranged and subject to sudden and violent mood swings. I had apparently alienated myself from everyone and found myself in a state of misery.

“There is an orb, deep in space, that can alter the fabric of space and time and take you back to the way things were,” I was told. “Just let it swallow you whole. If you enter this orb you’ll be transported back to another time, a better time, and you can change your decisions.”

“Are there dangers to going through this orb?” I asked.

“Yes,” the stranger replied. “It’s guarded by space zombies.”

The next thing I knew a space shuttle reminiscent of the recent SpaceX designs propelled me at the speed of light across our solar system. Ahead, a giant orange orb that seemed like a cross between a star and a black hole pulsed and throbbed. It simultaneously glowed and sucked in matter.

The titanium exterior of the ship ripped apart as space zombies (literally just human zombies in space; hey, it’s a dream) clawed their way into the ship their incredible claws and surrounded me. Their bites tore into my flesh, but I escaped to a solo pilot pod and ejected this pod from the ship with me inside. I went through the orb, bitten by zombies and wounded but not yet dead.

I emerged from this orb and returned back to who I was, before the surgery proposition and all of the madness. I thought that going back in time would cure my problems, but I felt an emptying feeling that lingered.

I was back to the way things were, but I was no longer the person who experienced those things. Reliving past events while making better decisions did not cure me; it made me more miserable than ever. There’s something hollow about experiencing the same things twice for the sake of preferring the past to the present.

All of this surreal madness, I can only assume, was a reminder not to yearn too much for the past. The past is dead, and running backwards can bring deadly consequences.

A Yearner’s Dilemma

The boy sat at the crest of the sandy New Mexico hill and gazed out toward the pastel-colored horizon. The air was still and the sun seethed his flesh. He didn’t mind the heat. The sweat reminded him that he was still alive, that he could still feel discomfort. If I could just finish school and get into college, he thought, I will have made it. I won’t need to worry anymore.

The student waited anxiously in his college dormitory for his exam grades to appear on his computer screen. He refreshed the screen continuously, hoping for the grades that would lead him towards salvation in the form of salary. If I can just finish college and get into Grad school, I will have done what I need to do, he thought. I will have made it. I won’t need to worry anymore.

The young graduate sat at his newly purchased office desk and stared at a phone that wouldn’t ring. Any day the company’s HR department would call to let him know whether he was selected for the position. If I can just get a good job I will have done everything I set out to do, he thought. I will have made it. I won’t need to worry anymore. I’ll have a salary.

The young professional calculated his new retirement plan to gauge whether it was trending towards his financial goals. These goals were fed to him via his company and told him whether or not his life would be secure in old age. Four years into work and he was still far off-target. He wouldn’t have his annual health insurance, life insurance, or vacation savings at an adequate level to keep from going under. Heart attacks are on the rise, after all. So he stared at his financial figures. Numbers floated in the space of his computer screen, but the numbers were not high enough. If I can just have another one hundred thousand dollars, I will have made it, he thought. I’ll have everything I need. I can finally stop chasing.

Having suffered a mid-life crisis in spite of a generous salary raise, the newly anointed executive stared at his newfound gray hairs and furrowed brow. Who is this balding and debilitating thing staring back at me through the mirror, this creature that was once a child? Now the kids have expenses for their sports. The family food bill is a flood that’s drowning his hopes and dreams. Damn their carnivorous appetites and their needs for toys. I was supposed to have made it, the executive thought to himself. But I’m falling farther behind. He couldn’t even begin to think about college expenses for the kids, nonetheless retirement. He’d be bound to virtual work as an octogenarian, crippled in a nursing home yet still reviewing spreadsheets. But if I can just get another two hundred thousand dollars, he thought, maybe I’ll have what I need. Maybe I can stop worrying. I will have made it.

The newly retired corporate careerist left the office at noon a free man. He was scared: hopefully Social Security would be high enough to cover his future costs. He had no benefits. And to make matters worse he had crippling anxiety from the past decades of work, and his fears steadily debilitated his cardiovascular health. He had enough, but did he have enough to truly be free? His dreams of European vacations still seemed out-of-reach. Maybe if I work part-time, he thought, I’d still have time to get there. He just needed an extra hundred thousand dollars. Time was ticking. The males in his family have a history of strokes and most of these strokes hit in the late 60s. He was 67. And yet he hadn’t done anything but try to get ahead. None of it felt fair. He didn’t have anything that he was entitled to.

Still, he thought, just another hundred thousand dollars and I’ll truly be free. I’ll have what I need to cover my bases. I will have made it. I can finally stop worrying.

He thought of the little boy on the New Mexico hill and wished he’d learned to stop yearning sixty years prior.

Willingness to Experiment

I ran this morning with minimalist shoes. Running with minimalist shoes is something that I’ve been slowly and steadily reintegrating into my routine. Most of my “runs without cushion on my feet” are slow-paced and shorter in distance.

Upon returning to minimalist shoes and the occasional barefoot walks, I quickly rediscovered the value of minimalist running. Minimalist shoes do quickly bring me closer to what I would describe as a “natural stride.” Cushion tends to blunt the mind’s ability to register bad form. We have a gazillion nerve endings in our feet and their duty is to detect danger; numbing them with foam doesn’t necessarily help our form.

Minimalist shoes also seem to work the calf muscles more than “maximal shoes.” I certainly felt more of a “calf burn” on the last mile.

There is value in trying new things. I’ve gained something from running in both maximal and minimal shoes. I don’t necessarily prefer one over the other. I can say that when running at a high intensity for a large number of miles, I find cushioned shoes to be pretty useful. I also find minimal shoes useful for correcting my form and general casual activities.

It’s important for me to not peg my identity on a brand, a style, or even a category. I’m not a “minimalist runner” any more than I’m a “maximalist runner.” I simply run by using whatever manner works, and I’m willing to try a different method if it reads as interesting. At the end of the day it’s an activity that we were born to do, and it should be fun. So, I’m willing to use whatever methods make running fun.

On another front, I’ve also been experimenting with diet. For example, upon returning to the US from China I dedicated myself to intermittent fasting. I stuck with it for the better part of three years and had a degree of success with it. How much of my improved health was actually a result of fasting, though, versus a multitude of other factors (caloric restriction and increased exercise, to name two factors) is difficult to say.

I abandoned intermittent fasting because I found it difficult to maintain running and cycling performance while adhering to a feeding window. I’ve tried a few long fasted runs over the past few months and even completed a fasted half marathon. However, I found my power to be limited and my abilities in a fasted state to be confined to a “low heart rate range”.

Also, there is no extra medal given for completing a run without food. If you lose to a guy who ate pancakes for breakfast, you still lost.

Moving away from intermittent fasting was simple because my feeding window was simple: I skipped breakfast.

Are there advantages to fasting? Sure. When deprived of carbohydrates, the body uses fat as its primary fuel source. The advantage of this is that fats are an extremely efficient form of energy. If my aim was simply to walk around the world on minimal fuel, a diet high in fat and low in carbohydrates might be a wise option. Fasting can also be an effective means of weight loss for this reason, especially if your body is not adept at fat oxidation due to carb overload.

For me, fat is not the best fuel source when seeking running and cycling performance. Glycogen provides me more power and arguably requires less oxygen to burn. The downside is that glycogen depletes quickly, so you need a lot of fuel. That said, for what I’m seeking (my best possible marathon time), I prefer relying primarily on glycogen.

This means I’ve largely abandoned my fasted runs and fasting routines. Maybe I’ll do some fasting during the occasional break from running, but I don’t view it as a priority. I haven’t noticed any diminishing returns from eating breakfast yet and it’s been about a month since I quit fasting.

Like I regard running shoes, I don’t want diet to define me. It’s easy to label oneself based on current diet. One can be “keto,” “vegan,” “carnivore,” “paleo,” or “low carb,” among a multitude of other things. I don’t want to permanently peg myself in any one category because it prohibits the opportunity of trying another. There’s a valid argument to be made in a lot of them; otherwise, they wouldn’t have popularized.

I can say that these days I’ve limited my meat intake and increased my carbohydrates. I generally feel better and I’ve noticed a very sizable performance increase. I’ve been eating some meat for the occasional dinner, but that’s about it. Starchy foods and vegetables have largely replaced what was once plates rife with beef.

The point is not that one diet is better than another, though: the point is that there is value in self-experimentation. We only have one life so we might as well learn what we can!

Peak Summer

The Missouri sun swelters in July and ensures any outdoor exerciser a challenge in maintaining a low heart rate.

I found my running pace steadily slowing this morning, mile after mile, as I lowered my cadence to keep my heart beating at a relatively easy effort. My run was essentially a long deceleration from what started at a slow pace to begin with.

Regarding “slow runs,” I’m of the belief that heart rate is more important than pace. Why would there be a pace dictating “easy effort?” Easy effort is simply an effort that feels easy. That feeling should not have a “pace requirement” to it. I think that we are too obsessed with clocks.

These days I do monitor my speed more closely when embarking on higher intensity runs; I used to just run for as long as I felt like it.

I try not to obsess over the clock. It was Captain Hook’s downfall to have his ears acutely attuned to a clock that signified his own mortality.

I ran through the soupy summer air and my feet skipped over the debris from the previous night’s Fourth of July downtown festivities. The sun already pierced at 7:00 am and I was drenched thirty minutes into my run. It was assuring to know though that my heart rate did in fact remain low for almost 8 miles (about 13 km) and I finished the run feeling invigorated.

The previous night, the cynic in me enjoyed the fireworks while also noting a great fallacy in the urban world: the concept that fun must be linked to consumption. The holiday must be celebrated by buying beers, buying food, buying firecrackers, and in turn doing very little. Pleasure comes from spending money on someone else’s creation. No action is required or recommended.

Meanwhile, I read somewhere that most adults cannot run one mile. This would not surprise me.

The value of running, to me, is the possibility of connection to the earth that it provides. How many people can genuinely feel the earth with their feet? In this day and age the modern human is either propped up, seated, or standing with a physical barrier (typically cushion) between his or feet and the earth.

There are currents and micro currents that sift through our DNA when we are outside and walking under sunshine. What happens to a soul that fails to feel the earth, the sun, and all of its magnificent invisible remedies?

I reckon that running, like cycling, is a stand against the urban rat race. It is a reach backwards, in a sense, to the persistence hunt and the evolution that occurred from the first bipeds.

Over thousands of years we learned to run. It would be a tragedy to lose that gift in a century.

Progression Run and Memories

I embarked on my weekly “long run” this morning a little before 7 am. Tomorrow is July 4th, Independence Day.

The run totaled 12 miles. I kept my pace in a low heart rate zone for the majority of the run; I’m mindful of the human tendency to overdo exercises. I accelerated the final 25 minutes of the run, but felt relatively fresh at the finish.

I prefer having the majority of my long runs in a low heart rate zone because I find myself in a meditative state while running at a prolonged low effort. My mind wanders. There are no thoughts of physical pain or fatigue. This pace is my “forever” zone. It is a pace in which time ceases to exist. My sights are on my environs, not the ground beneath me.

For a brief moment I thought about what I surprisingly miss from living in China (I’m staying in the US, but I did get a lot of value from my time in China). There are several things I admittedly miss, but I’ll only detail one of those things here: the struggle of it all. Through the struggle of figuring out how to persist in China, I found meaning.

The temperature, for example, was almost never ideal. In the summers I baked due to a lack of air conditioning. In the winters I froze due to a lack of adequate heating. And yet somehow I adapted (or attempted to as best I could). It was that adaptation that strengthened me.

In the return to a world utterly obsessed with perfect temperature regulation, I’ve found both comfort and a relative emptiness. The A/C puffs a cool breeze that both soothes my skin and drains my soul.

Every now and then I’ll turn off the air conditioning and let my apartment’s temperature shoot up to around 80 degrees Fahrenheit. I try to remind myself that it’s discomfort that spurs growth, not comfort. I’ll let myself sweat it out at night.

I find “discomfort experiments” such as this worthwhile because I am building up to some extreme endurance activities. Endurance running and cycling require the ability to withstand and understand discomfort. So, I try to disrupt the status quo here and there. I think back to my life in China. I try to resist the innate temptation to overcompensate with comfort.

In China, my struggles were also exciting. The struggle to communicate, the struggle to eat adequately, the struggle to adapt. They caused stress and yet they enlivened me. I miss those things and more. I don’t plan to return to China, but these struggles taught me valuable lessons.

My thoughts of China were brief and mixed with several other random reflections.

Another thought I had on my trail run regarded the animals I often cross on my path. I’ve seen a menagerie of wildlife: geese, turkey, robins, crows, squirrels, rabbits, possums, and even a family of beaver. There is something deeply satisfying in crossing paths with these animals. I’ve gained a better understanding of some species-specific behavior. I’ve had a better glimpse of the world as it was meant to exist, outside the vice grip of the city.

Turkey, for example, are much flightier than geese, which will often “stand their ground” defensively. The turkey take off running.

I suspect that distance running is really about connectedness. You can’t find that on a treadmill. It’s about experiencing the earth’s surface, developing a relationship with it, and finding connection with nature. A treadmill is more of a torture device. I can’t run on those things for the life of me. They lack fun in every sense of the word.

Tomorrow is Independence Day. For the sake of memories I’ll post a photo that was taken about 4 years ago. This one still feels like yesterday. I feel like the thrill of it all captures how I think of my time in China, in general: exhilarating, nauseating, unique, and brief enough to feel like a dream.

I rode this in China and then fought to avoid puking for an hour afterward:

The Need for a “What If”

I find myself needing a hypothetical “what if” in order to look forward to the future. That “what if” scenario is simple:

“What if my important accomplishment or action, which I was placed on this planet to fulfill, has not yet occurred?”

I find the need to posit this scenario because as a former elite athlete, it was easy to assume for the better part of a decade that my greatest accomplishment already transpired. This is a debilitating state of mind that ensnares many athletes because their athletic careers typically end well before the halfway marker of life.

I freed myself of this mental prison with a hypothetical question, and whether or not it’s true is inconsequential: “What if there is still a greater adventure ahead?”

I think of Bilbo Baggins and his reluctance to leave the safety of the Shire. After all, Gandalf reminds him, there is no guarantee of a safe return, or a return at all.

Yet something catalyzes Bilbo to embark on his greatest adventure and to eventually slay a dragon. He is about 50 years old when he leaves the Shire, which in theory would mark him well past his physical prime.

I am turning 37 soon. I spent the first quarter of age 36 learning to walk, and then run, again. As I embark on longer runs and longer bike rides I have no delusions of winning any sort of championships, nor do I care to.

There is, though, a unique excitement in knowing that I just ran or biked farther than I ever had in my life.

About a week ago I managed a long Sunday run of 15 miles (24 km). That was the longest run of my life, and I finished it feeling fresh. Today I biked a little more than 50 miles (80 km) without stopping. My “injured” foot remains in good health and I find myself feeling physically “lighter” than I have in the past.

Why do I feel lighter? Maybe the burden of expectations has finally been lifted from my spirit. Without it I’m free to experiment and fail.

I suspect that I have a lot of miles to run, and plenty of engine to run them. That’s why I signed up for my first full marathon, which will take place in April 2023. There’s plenty of time to build to it. I have a dream of running several. I’m in it for the long haul.

I don’t obsess over any sort of victory anymore, but I do feel a compulsion in my soul to finish my first marathon without stopping. Maybe it’s yet another form of my battle with my own mortality. Maybe I finally found the metaphorical dragon to slay, as Bilbo did. Or maybe the marathon is simply my “Gandalf”, my catalyst to introduce me to even better adventures ahead.

After all, why run roads when mountains are an option?

What if the best is yet to come?

A Conversation about Minimalism

Last week I had a fun coffee shop conversation with a friend about minimalism. He recorded it for a podcast that he runs. I don’t consider myself a minimalist, but I do enjoy reading about minimalism and consider some minimalist practices to avoid overindulging in consumerism.

If you’re interested in minimalism feel free to give it a listen:

A conversation about minimalism

Pain Tolerance

I woke Thursday morning and had an epiphany that I wanted to test the limitations of my pain tolerance as it relates to exercise.

The evening before, I attended a weekly “speed run” session that I signed up for. At that session I ran a little more than 7 (11 km) total miles, 4.5 (7.25 km) of which were at high intensity. The intensity marker used was my approximate 5 km road race pace.

When I woke on Thursday my legs were not exactly fresh. Usually I let myself recover immediately after a high intensity session. I was curious, though, about my body’s ability to rebound. When we are younger, after all, it’s common for training programs to force athletes into back-to-back high intensity sessions. It had been a few years since I’d tried something similar. Is my body still capable of repeat speed sessions?

I decided not to ingest a single calorie before the workout in order to add to the challenge. I had a cup of coffee and some water only.

I started with a 24 mile (38 km) bike ride along the Riverfront Trail. The cycling legs felt fresh and I maintained a moderately intense pace with relative ease, probably because cycling uses different movement patterns than running.

I returned home, drank some salted water, and immediately embarked on a 9 mile (14.5 km) run. I usually don’t engage in cycling and running back-to-back, but I wanted to attempt the double.

In the middle of the long run were 8 repeats of the following: half a mile at fast pace (a little slower than 5k race pace) and a quarter mile recovery jog. My fast pace was my fastest average yet and I maintained a consistent time for all 8 repeats. I did feel fatigued from the night before, but it was nice to see that maintaining race pace was still very manageable.

The session as a whole was one of my better workouts. More affirming was that I don’t necessarily need any calories to have a quality endurance workout. Sometimes we become overly dependent on calories for workout sustenance. Carbohydrates tend to be the fuel of choice. I suspect that they may not be as necessary as consensus seems to believe, at least for endurance activities. It’s freeing to be able to just “go for it” on an empty stomach. Word of caution if attempting this though: I routinely fast in the morning and have been doing so for years, so an “empty stomach exercise” was nothing new. The only unique part of this workout’s zero calorie attempt was the longevity of the session.

I spent the day sore, but I also still wanted to see just how far my own mileage could take me. I still had a free evening; maybe I’d try another bike ride! So after work, I logged another 21 mile (34 km) bike ride, also with moderate intensity. The ride could have lasted longer, but my left foot and leg started cramping. I did the cycling equivalent of a “limp to the finish line.” It was time to call it a day.

I woke several times throughout the night with severe cramps in both legs. Obviously I stressed the muscles more than was necessary. I don’t regret the attempt though; I think it’s important to overdo it every once in awhile; physical barriers are meant to be crossed. It’s important to know one’s own limitations, and the only way to truly know a limit is to push past it. Further, I don’t think it was the mileage that overtaxed me so much as it was the constant high intensity (emphasizing speed for several straight sessions).

I bring this up because I worry about the tendency with age to want to “keep things manageable.” We cross from childhood to adulthood and with that crossover can come a desire to have life more or less “figured out.” Failure should be kept to a minimum, we often think. How often are adults willing to “burn out in a blaze of glory!” We are supposed to have “made it,” which in theory means that discomfort steadily dissipates. Heaven forbid we struggle with something like we did when we were kids. Comfortable walks replace dangerous desert adventures.

I want to keep the habit of burning out in a blaze of glory. That’s the “maximalist” in me. Rather than keeping exercise “moderate” I think there is some value in sometimes (obviously not always) attempting a feat that is utterly unmanageable.

I did a recovery bike ride today along the Riverfront Trail. The legs definitely needed to heal a little after the previous night’s struggles.

Taking the time to appreciate my environs brought one obvious thing to the forefront: the city’s rabbit population is multiplying rapidly. While the American robins and geese claim the trail as their domain in the winter months, it seems to belong to the rabbits in summer.

A rabbit darted across my path every few minutes, likely fearful of the strange large two-wheeled object hauling itself forward that may or may not be a predator.

I stopped my bike ride and turned back when a flock of geese blocked the trail. One of the geese hissed and chased me for a bit. I couldn’t help but smile and submit. Let the geese have the trail, I say. Life’s too short to compete or threaten them back. There’s some beauty in a goose’s aggression. They’re just protecting their own, after all. Larger animals such as humans must be utterly terrifying to them.

Plus, there are plenty of other trails.

The Case for Maximalist Shoes

It was January 2022. My physical therapist examined my minimalist style running shoes after measuring my injured foot’s mobility and assessing its muscle damage.

“You’ll have to put those shoes away for awhile,” he said. “The problem is that you have torn ligaments in your foot. Your foot needs cushion right now.” I nodded obediently.

“This isn’t a case where I’m telling you that they’re bad shoes,” he emphasized. “I’m telling you that these shoes will hurt you if you wear them right now.”

He recommended a few brands of “maximalist” shoes that initially piqued little interest in me. I figured if I did my rehab exercises I could continue wearing my minimal “barefoot style” shoes. I’d show the world with my uncanny foot strength!

Physical therapy ended and I proudly continued to wear my minimalist style shoes. I figured my foot was above the assessment of the modern doctor, though I do respect my physical therapist.

And slowly, over the course of weeks, running caused my injured foot to deteriorate. With each step, the dull ache from my injury began to return. Mobility worsened. Eventually I found myself limping pretty regularly, like I did for the second half of 2021.

My physical therapist was right.

If the primary criticism of the modern cushioned running shoe is that it acts as a cast for the foot, my situation presented a strong case for needing cast.

A ligament on the bottom of my right foot was giving me particularly acute pains. That makes sense. If a muscle is torn on the bottom of your foot, it hits the ground with your body weight thousands of times each day. That probably isn’t going to feel very good for long.

So at the start of April I went to a running store and bought two pairs of cushioned running shoes. Heck, I figured, my foot was on the verge of no longer being able to run. Some cushioned shoes wouldn’t make the matter worse. Besides, it would only be temporary.

I bought a pair of Hoka Cliftons and a pair of Altra Torins because I preferred the relatively little heel raise of the shoes and the wider toe boxes. The Altra Torins are actually “zero drop,” which means they do not have an elevated heel at all.

Walking and running in cushioned shoes was an odd sensation after spending the previous few years with almost no foot support. It felt like I was constantly walking over a plush bed. I didn’t necessarily like that. We have thousands of nerve endings in our feet and I believe those nerve endings seek sensation in the earth.

And yet, within two weeks my injured foot’s various pains went away. I was running comfortably, and that was frankly a surprise. A week after that and I forgot the foot was ever injured. A week after that and I was running farther distances than I ever had in my life.

I rotate the Altras and Hokas by running session in order to prolong them. I’m still running in them (I’m supposed to until at least the fall). Maybe I’ll continue after that to an extent and just rotate in the minimalist shoes. Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Though I think there is health risk in becoming dependent on cushion (a limb trapped within a cast for years will inevitably weaken), maybe my situation was one of the few in which “maximalist” shoes served a good purpose.

I can’t argue with good health after all.

The Bicycle and My Health

I sat in a plush chair that stood in the center of a sterile and immaculate patient room at my company’s wellness center. I faced a television but did not register what was playing on its screen. I waited for the results of my recent health examination.

It had been three years since my last health check at our wellness center. That last check was in 2019, just two months after I returned from China and less than one year before COVID became a thing. I thought about the peaks and valley’s I’d been through in that timespan. What did that journey mean for my health?

The practitioner walked in with a clipboard and greeted me.

“We hadn’t seen you in a long time,” she said. “And to make a long story short… your health is perfect, and it improved considerably. That’s pretty rare for someone over the past few years.”

She then listed off my metrics and how much they improved since 2019.

“Your LDL cholesterol, which is your bad cholesterol, improved from 110 mg/dL, which is not terrible but not great, to 52 mg/dL, which is outstanding.”

“Your blood pressure went from 130/87, a little higher than what we prefer, to 118/73, which is in perfect range.”

“You dropped 15 pounds, though you were not overweight by any standards.”

“I have to ask because I encounter so many patients going through struggles right now: what did you change?”

I told her that I basically only changed one thing: I bought a bicycle and found myself enjoying it. It was supposed to be a new hobby to “get me through the boredom of work from home.” I bought it because I was frustrated by my inertia, frustrated by the new normal of virtual meetings, and frustrated that I wasn’t enjoying life. I told her that I felt my stress increasing over those first few months of the pandemic, and I wondered if a new way of moving could be a cure. Hatred can accumulate with a snowball effect, and I didn’t want to die a hateful person. I knew almost nothing about bicycles or cycling at the time.

And as it turned out, the bicycle cured me. My metabolic age is now 13 years younger than my actual age. By each measure, I am the healthiest I’ve been in my life. My health problems vanquished. I smashed them with my bicycle tires, one by one.

That’s not to say that my health was poor when I returned from China, but that it wasn’t nearly as good as I had assumed at the time. It’s to say that it could have been so much better, and cycling helped me understand just how good health can be.

In a sense, the bicycle gave me a second life. It’s a meditation, an exercise, a hobby, and a thrill ride all in one. And in a sense I do feel reborn. I don’t feel as angry as I used. I feel content to just “have a good time,” which is all I really want. Cycling is my time to just be me and enjoy the day.

So for me, it seems, a lot of it was about the bike.

Visiting Cousins

My younger brother and I spent the weekend in Ohio to attend my cousin Michael’s wedding. I hadn’t seen Michael in well over a decade and was humbled to have received an invitation. There have been a confluence of recent events that have led me to want to visit family more often. My uncle’s passing and my cousin’s wedding invitation were two important markers.

My brother and I lounged on a patio upon arrival at the venue and eventually met my aunt (Michael’s mom). Honestly it was nice to see faces and personalities whom I had been estranged from, yet share a genetic line with. As I get older and see the similarities we share in mannerisms and behavioral patterns, I find genetics to be more profound. It’s odd because reuniting with friends can be awkward and conversations can be forced. With my cousins, however, dialogue was an effortlessly flowing river.

In the wedding speeches to celebrate Michael I heard life events that easily could have been mine or my brother’s (loving sports, practicing pro wrestling moves for fun, drawing from an endless source of energy as a kid). It stokes the nature vs nurture debate. How can two people growing up in different states and different circumstances exhibit the same life patterns and struggles? Genetics and chance. Which also begs the question: how much of me is me?

The weather was perfectly conducive to an outdoor wedding (sunny and 75 degrees Fahrenheit) and I was glad the ceremony went off without a hitch. I was also humbled that my extended family was happy to see me. All the credit for the visitation goes to Michael, who was always the best of all of us at making an effort to remain in touch. It was a lesson for me to take the time and visit; the emotional rewards are well worth the effort.

I was caught in a flurry of flight cancellations on the flight back to Saint Louis and am currently sitting in the Charlotte airport (my layover) hoping I don’t have to stay overnight. So far my flight is delayed almost three hours. Eric’s flight was canceled and he’s off to a nearby hotel. We’ll see.

I spent Sunday afternoon drinking coffee with my brother Eric and cousin Katie (Michael’s older sister). We had an interesting conversation about human nature. It was one of those coffee talks that veered a hundred directions and someone landed on human nature.

“We’re basically chimpanzees, so of course we’re inherently violent. Especially men.”

“We’re savages with brains.”

“But with our brains comes the opportunity for self-reflection, and therefore self-restraint.”

“So we create laws and rules to tame ourselves. And therefore many of us are either at war with ourselves or with each other.”

I also had a pleasant conversation with two people whom I would term my “cousin in-laws.” That is, their father is my aunt’s partner. And through our conversation I was reminded of the struggles so many of us are forced to assume, against our own choice, but somehow, incredibly, persevere through. The oldest child died of brain cancer. There is a genetic health condition passed down in their family line. The next youngest is legally deaf. Both parents are legally blind.

And through stories such as these I’m reminded that, point blank, I’m basically just really freakin’ lucky. And I should be humble to be so lucky. I should be grateful that, in spite of some health issues of my own, I’ve had a good run up to this point in time.

I’m also grateful that, though I reunited with my cousins far too late, I learned that I need to take initiative to invest and be curious in their lives, because they’re pretty incredible people and well worth it. Better late than never.

Workout Recovery and Thoughts on Fun

Amidst a 20 mile Friday morning bike ride, five miles from my destination I crossed paths with a little elementary school boy. He was walking on the neighboring sidewalk. The air was cool and crisp, the wind was bracing, and I was pedaling too furiously too appreciate the full bloom of spring. I’ve crossed paths with the boy before; he usually waves hello.

“Cool bike!” he yelled out to me that morning. “Yeah,” I said. The line was my homage to the movie Dredd. The film’s protagonist and ultimate badass has a moment when his panicked assistant warns him: “Sir, I think he’s going for your gun,” referring to a villain plotting to overtake Dredd. Dredd calmly replies, “Yeah.”

I’ve found my mileage from both cycling and running increasing. The mileage has been enough to tax the body more than usual. I rode most of Friday’s 40 total cycling miles with a high intensity and elevated heartrate. My legs felt like mush Friday night.

I’m nearing age 37. I can assume that I recover pretty fast for my age. I recover fast enough that I can comfortably bike around 200 miles in a week, run more than 30 miles each a week, and still feel pretty fresh (I had two of the best runs of my life on Saturday and Sunday). Then again, when approaching mileage this high, one has to take measures to maximize recovery. Sleep and diet play a more integral role in how I feel the next day.

I’ve stopped my “intermittent fasting.” After that 20-mile Friday morning ride, for example, I needed protein. Intermittent fasting is great for weight loss. While engaged in high endurance activities, however, I find it difficult to manage a time-restricted feeding window.

A final unrelated note: I find myself sitting here on a Monday afternoon and thinking about “fun.” I have fun riding a bicycle regardless of my speed or my effort. I enjoy it enough to find every daily excuse I can for a bike ride. That said, there is an element of danger to it that’s both disconcerting and adrenaline-inducing. I was hit by a car last year. That hit stripped away my naive sense of invincibility. I carry a sense of dread, however small, each time I bike commute on a road. I am a finite being and brutally exposed as mortal on the road. Cyclists die on the road every year. A lot of managing the hobby is therefore also a matter of mitigating risk. This is a tough balance. Going outside at all requires risk, and life’s too short to spend indoors.

I have fun running because it’s a physical activity that, despite my age, I’m constantly improving. Improvement makes anything fun. I’m also 37 and I’d be delusional to think that I’ll constantly improve my running speed forever. Following the inevitable peak, what will I do to remove the monotony of running long distances? I’d need new routes, new trails, and new challenges. I’d need to run in new places, under new elements, and in new terrain. And therefore a sense of fun is aided by, again, an increased sense danger. Running along a mountain is more fun than running on a treadmill (I don’t run on treadmills anyways).

There is a razor’s edge one walks when balancing fun and longevity. I don’t know if we ever walk it perfectly balanced.

Some Life Reflections

I learned that my uncle passed away earlier this week. It was something of a shock to me because the possibility of his passing wasn’t remotely on my mind. Unlike when my grandfather passed away last year, I had no dreams of a final communication. He was 67.

My first thought is that life is short and precious. He lived a very full life. Longevity in terms of years should never be assumed under any circumstance. I hope for longevity and yet if my own span is 67 years, I’m past the halfway marker. If my own span is less than 67 years, what the hell is the point of planning for retirement?

I find myself constantly moving these days. The realization of my own mortality is part of the reason for that. I suspect that somewhere behind me, Death approaches, scythe in hand. I don’t know how many miles of headway I have. Continuous movement may bide more time. But then again, nothing is guaranteed.

I always had good encounters with my uncle Bill. I didn’t get to know him well enough. I suspect we often feel that way upon the death of a relative.

I remember when he and his daughter drove to Minnesota to watch me compete at the NCAA Swimming Championships. It was my freshman year, which was about seventeen years ago. I remember looking up in the stands when I was preparing to swim and seeing him wearing my college team’s apparel. He was cheering loudly and it meant the world to me. He didn’t know me all that well and certainly had no obligation to attend. His being there really warmed my heart. He struck me as someone with an intense sense of loyalty to family.

He never knew this—in fact my own family never knew this—but he became something of a legend between me and my roommate in college. We always talked about “being tough like Bill.” When culture seemed to weaken, it needed to “toughen up like Bill.” “Bill’s out in weather thirty degrees below zero, working on a construction site to help feed his family, and these college wusses can’t get out of bed for class!” It’s true that he was a construction worker in North Dakota under some of the harshest weather imaginable. He was blue collar to the core, tough as nails, and due to that toughness one would wonder if anything could ever eventually take him down. He also had a warm smile and a wicked sense of humor that I appreciated.

I wish that I made the effort to tell Bill about those stories. I hadn’t spoken to him in a long time, though I wish I had. As I get older and I experience more family members passing away, I sense that we often think of the things we wish we had said, not the things we said. I hope Bill knew that I really appreciated him though, however brief our encounters.

I’ll close this blog with the thought that tomorrow is a new day—hopefully a day devoid of getting caught up in the everyday petty bs concerns—and hopefully the new day brings a new adventure. I’ll think of Bill as I do my best to “just have a good time.” I‘ll make plans, but not retirement plans. There are no plans for my 67th year, or my 66th! My plans involve gravel roads, a desert sky, granite mountains, a bicycle, and a menagerie of wildlife.

The Post-Mountain Hangover

Since returning from my mountain trip in Bozeman, Montana, I’ve resumed my normal “adult” routine.

I try to run a little farther farther each week. This morning I completed nearly 12 miles (19 km) at a steady and moderate pace. I have specific running goals in mind, but they’re for only me to know. I want to test my limits. I was an elite swimmer, but never a competitive runner. Maybe I’m in a battle with my age and refuse to accept that a gradual decline looms nearer. It’s true that I refuse to believe that decay will eventually win. I’ll deny it to the end, fists clenched.

I have wondered when my running will stall. When will I hit a plateau? At what point will I have overtrained and need an extended rest? I’m having fun because I’m improving, but I won’t improve forever. What then?

I try to counterbalance my quest for a specific running speed with fun. Some days, I remind myself, it’s just better to skip “run day” and ride a skateboard, or ride a bike at a slow pace along a greenway. I don’t want my training to define my life; I want to define my training.

To be completely consumed by athletic pursuits is to submit oneself to something akin to a permanent state of war. Life’s too short to keep that mindset forever. Fun is a preferred alternative. I think one can “commit” without being “consumed.” There is a line between the two.

I continue to ride my bicycle to and from work. For each trip to the office, that’s 38 miles (61 km). There is no “winning” in this commute because I engage in a race against no one. My main reward is improved health. The car drivers make the commute faster than me and do so without breaking a sweat. However, every convenience brings a host of unintended consequences. Cars have the advantage of air conditioning, a favorite playlist, a gas or electric powered engine, and a cushioned seat. Then again, nothing destroys the body more quickly than sitting. In an ideal life, I never sit.

Instead of the car, I choose the summer heat, bugs smacking against my face as I pedal along quiet roads before the crack of dawn, a jersey soaked with sweat, the occasional thigh cramp, and the occasional storm to withstand. This gives me the pride of knowing I can do something that very few can or ever will.

Montana Hiking: Day 3

We began our final day in Montana with a breakfast at Feed Cafe on Main Street, where I had two of the best slabs of bacon I’ve ever tasted. The food helped erase the effects of the Montana-made Bourbon that I imbibed the night before.

After breakfast and a short nap we ventured to a different mountain range for the final hike of the trip. This was arguably the most challenging hike; it took us several hours to complete. The trek took us several thousand feet up in elevation and the temperature dropped more than twenty degrees from the start to the trail’s apex. The views were breathtaking. We almost didn’t make it to the trail due to ice and snow covering the ground near the trail’s entrance, which our rental car’s tires struggled to grip.

Though I entered Montana in the best physical condition of my life, the high altitude still taxed my lungs and the steep inclines strained my glutes. I was plenty sore and fatigued by trip’s end.

I was told to bring bear spray with me on each hike, but I forgot to buy any. Luckily we did not encounter any bears. It’s my understanding that the region has a mixture of black bears and grizzlies. You obviously don’t want to cross paths with either, but you really don’t want to cross paths with a grizzly. A male grizzly will eat its own child without remorse; it therefore would have no qualms having a human for dinner.

We finished our final day with a walk through downtown. We ventured through a few apparel stores (I just window shopped) and ate one final meal. Each of us had an “elk burger” and for each of us it was the first time eating elk meat. When in Montana, you just gotta try Elk. It’s a very lean meat and frankly I find it almost indistinguishable from bison. Maybe my tastebuds just aren’t refined enough.

I’ll miss Bozeman. The people are friendly and welcoming, and the pace of life is objectively much slower than big city life. I prefer that. My time spent in cities has convinced me that despite their conveniences, they are not natural for people to inhabit. In fact they may be detrimental to the human psyche. Murder exists almost everywhere, but it’s most prevalent in cities and extremely rare in many rural areas. Many people in cities, especially these days, have a certain angst and anxiety about them that troubles me.

I’ve read before (but cannot cite the source) that growing up in the city doubles your risk of developing schizophrenia when compared to growing up in the countryside. This does not surprise me. Nor does the detrimental mental effect that being amassed by tall buildings must have. I enjoy the conveniences of city life and have good friends that live in cities prosperously, but every convenience has its set of consequences.

I’ll conclude this blog with a dream I recently had. I don’t know what it means, but I think it’s loosely linked to my mountain trip and a cynical feeling that suffused me upon returning to the city.

In the dream, I made one last return to my old high school swimming pool. Somehow, inexplicably, there was a swimming competition being held and I was competing in it. My coach announced to a packed crowd via microphone: “We’ve managed to bring Matt back for one final race! This is your last chance to support the guy who broke every record we ever had.” I nervously prepared for a race behind the starting blocks and broke my goggles from my nervousness. Someone gave me a spare pair and I quickly broke those as well. When I finally adjusted my third pair of goggles, I realized that the pool, which was supposed to be indoors, had the opposite wall removed. The pool seemed to extend to eternity. Behind the normal length of the pool, I saw obstacle courses such as climbing ropes and white water rapids. “Obstacles courses!?” I yelled at one of my brothers. “Yeah, you didn’t know?” He said. “That’s what you have to compete with now.” I woke from the dream as I frantically tried to prep myself for a new challenge.

Yellowstone, the Bison Kingdom

My brothers and I ventured out to Yellowstone National Park at 5 am because supposedly the region’s wildlife is most active at dawn.

En route we encountered several herds of elk. Eventually we arrived at the north entrance to the park. The roads were hazardous due to snow and ice for the first few miles of driving, but eventually the snow dissipated and the weather warmed.

Beneath the ethereal beauty of the park lurks an active supervolcano, thousands of times more powerful than a normal volcano. For those fascinated by the apocalypse, an eruption of this volcano would bury much of the United States in ash and cease much of life as we know it. A permanent world of darkness would become the new normal.

And judging by how well we predict the weather on a daily basis (not all that well considering our advancements in technology), I’d venture to guess that we won’t know when this will volcano finally erupt.

I find it interesting that an organic world of water resides peacefully over constantly flowing lava. Fire and water are in permanent residence beside each other, separated by a layer of earth. They are yin and yang, order and chaos, and only a thin line exists as a barrier between the two. This line seems very breakable.

The magma that flows underneath the park is the reason for the park’s famous geysers and hot springs.

I gazed out at these geysers and steamy springs as I hiked through the park. The plumes and films of steam that the water emitted seemed to tickle the air for all of eternity. I smelled sulfur as I hiked through.

Besides the elk and bison, I saw crows much larger than I ever thought possible. Some were larger than small dogs.

The notion that I walked over an apocalyptic volcano caused a sort of calm cynicism to take over me. How small are our petty problems, and even our lives, in the grand scheme of eternity? An unforeseen burst of lava can eradicate everything. Suddenly our anxieties, like our plans, would be wiped from existence, and the erasure would not even cause a blip on the universe’s radar of significant events.

Anyways, after the park visit my brothers and I feasted at an excellent barbecue restaurant before returning to our rental home. There we sat in the hot tub and drank bourbon and mezcal for hours while gazing at the stars and talking about life.

I can only summarize this blog by writing that I hope to return here soon.

Montana Hiking: Day 1

I flew into Bozeman, Montana on Friday afternoon. Sheets of falling rain and sleet greeted me.

Bozeman is a small but rapidly growing city in the Rocky Mountains. As I drove upwards in elevation, the snow stuck more to the roads and terrain. Snow-capped mountains loomed in each direction.

I traveled with my two brothers and we rented a house near the Bridger Mountain Range. The purpose of our trip was simply to escape the city and enjoy some challenging mountain hikes. It’s common, I guess, for a city dweller to yearn for vacations that are “near nature.”

To be “near nature” is a sort of odd yearning because everything is nature. A city is nature. Wildlife creeps into the cities just as wildlife finds its way into everything. There are rats in the sewers, squirrels in the yards, trees in the parks, and insects in the alleyways. Maybe it is more appropriate to just say one wants to be “away from man-made cities.” I don’t particularly like cities, aside from their conveniences.

Saturday morning the snow continued to pile on and we attempted a hike along Drinking Horse Mountain Trail. The hike up this mountain was already vertiginous and was all the more brutal due to the icy conditions. There was a breathtaking beauty though, even amongst the frozen tundra.

I was constantly slipping, as even my hiking-specific boots were not equipped for the weather. However, the view from the top of the mountain was breathtaking.

After this hike, some delicious breakfast burritos, and a little recovery, we embarked for the “M Trail,” a slightly more difficult hike along a neighboring mountain. The snowfall stopped by our arrival at the trail, but the mountains remains snow-capped. Some mountain areas had upwards of twelve inches of snow on the ground to trudge through. I believe the snow and ice doubled our time to completion.

On the way down the M Trail we took a wrong turn. In fact, we took several wrong turns and ended up crossing into an intersecting trail. It’s difficult to say where exactly our hike went wrong because the snow hid a lot of trail demarcations.

We accidentally took a much more difficult climb down this mountain (and it was a climb by that point, not a hike). I often skidded and slid, and mostly just hoped I wouldn’t re-injure my right foot. Luckily, I made it.

The extremely high altitude taxed my lungs and the added challenge of walking over snow and ice exhausted my body. I knew quickly that I’d wake up with sore glutes.

So, after these two hikes and some excellent barbecue, I relaxed with my brothers at our house’s outdoor hot tub, which also provided an incredible view of the mountains. I could see several prairie dogs poke out of holes in the ground all through the valley.

The next day would involve a drive to Yellowstone National Park.