Some readers may remember an earlier post about how I did away with my lawn and put in indigenous plants. As a follow up project, I made running paths that allow me to go for a run in the country without leaving my front yard.

It was suggested that I hold a marathon in my yard, so I got the course Boston certified, and wrote about the event in a post called Basalt and Pine Marathon.

I was hoping to make it an annual event; however, issues arose during the race that forced cancellation of this year’s event.

• Over 2,400 runners entered. They spent most of the race trying to squeeze past other participants without making much progress.
• Since the race course was a 220-foot loop, race officials soon lost track of lap counts and placing.
• Many runners left their warm up clothing in my neighbor’s yard, and I forgot that my event and his lawn-mowing schedule coincided. The shredded outfits left a bitter taste among participants.

The native plants make for a very attractive marathon course.

I’m still contemplating holding a marathon in my yard next year, My neighbor has agreed to adjust his lawn moving schedule. I just need to enlarge my running paths so they’ll handle thousands of runners.

Sitting down to write this week’s post, no ideas came. I became desperate because all I could think of was random things, some about running and some not. I apologize if this post bores you, however, if you have trouble falling asleep, it’s an excellent resource.

In the 2011 Bloomsday 12K, a photo was taken of myself and a couple other runners. Of six feet, none were touching the ground.

I once read an article about this and was surprised how high the ratio of both feet off the ground is to time that at least one foot is on the ground.

Below is a photo of me watching a track and field race on YouTube.

Non-runners (and some runners too), probably think it’s boring to watch people run in circles over and over, but I find it very interesting.

Here I am standing atop the compost pile in the corner of my backyard.

The guy who lives across the alley once asked my next-door neighbor if they hate me. My neighbor asked why he would think that. He replied that he saw them tossing weeds into my backyard. My neighbors toss their weeds over the fence and into my pile because I’ve asked for their compostables.

I’m going to reveal something embarrassing. Maybe you’ll find it disgusting. I grow lots of tomatoes in my backyard. I eat plenty fresh, but I also boil down a bunch to make spaghetti sauce. I dehydrate a lot for wintertime eating as well.

I cut up a lot of tomatoes to dry. This is one batch which I repeat a bunch times more.

When I cut bunches of tomatoes, there’s a large pool of tomato juice left on the cutting table. The juice is especially sweet and good-tasting. I put my lips to the table and suck it up.

I’m a bachelor, and I live alone. I can get away with this. However, if I start seeing someone, don’t take a screen shot of this photo and send it to her. I’ll come after you.

I thought I’d have a pleasant outing in the woods last Sunday picking huckleberries, but there are some very rude people out there.

This year’s crop of huckleberries is very good.

Because I must run everywhere, I ran from my house to Mt. Spokane, a forty-six mile round trip. Huckleberries, a type of blueberry, grow mostly at high elevation around here. They are delicious and very healthy. I eat plenty fresh and freeze lots for year round eating. Though quite common, they resist domestication and must be picked wild.

There are a lot of huckleberry aficionados, and easy-to-reach patches are heavily picked. I know of an excellent patch on Mt. Spokane that requires some hiking. I’ve been going there for years, and I’ve never seen another picker.

I use a couple milk jugs with the top cut off and when attached to my belt, it frees both hands for picking. As you can see, it was a decent harvest.

I gave myself several pats on the back for coming up with the idea of running home with the containers placed at my hips. Carrying the extra weight will really increase my leg muscle mass.

However, so many people passing by in cars laughed at me. One guy yelled, “Run faster, huckleberry boy!” Oh, I got extremely angry.

I shook my fist at the mean driver who called me huckleberry boy. I don’t like that.

One driver honked his horn, and I waved, thinking it was someone I knew. But no, he laughed and yelled, “Wash up, huckleberry hands.”

Besides purple hands. I usually have purple lips, cheeks and chin too.

Then a problem developed. I glanced behind, and on the road was a trail of huckleberries as far as the eye could see. My berries were bouncing out.

However, I solutioned this issue very brilliantly. If I ran home in only half the time as my normal pace, only half as many berries will bounce out. So what to do was obvious:

Extreme Speedrunning!

Unfortunately, when I arrived home, there were so few berries left. The huckleberry bounce rate increased during my extreme speedrunning.

I became incensed about the wastiture of precious huckleberries. I was seething for hours, and not being able to get hold of my anger management counselor didn’t help either. As I often do, I vented my anger by slamming a pillow against the wall.

So, next week I’ll have to make another trip to Mt. Spokane – by car, which actually is how I got there today. I didn’t really run to Mt Spokane and back. 🙂

I was a high school senior when I walked into the kitchen as my mother prepared breakfast on May 30th,1975. On the radio was news of the death of America’s top track and field distance runner – Steve Prefontaine.

This poster I purchased forty years ago is pinned to a wall in my basement.

He was only twenty-four years old, and I was truly struck by his death in a one-car accident in Eugene, Oregon. I couldn’t help thinking how such a talented, charismatic runner was going from setting records to being buried in the ground.

He was a young college student when I watched him on TV challenging for the lead with a half lap to go in the 1972 Olympic 5000 meters, only to get edged for a medal by the older, more experienced favorites.

When I was in high school, before Pre’s death, a teacher assigned a collage project which I have little memory of. Among the hundreds of magazines we had for cutting out photos, I came across a 1971 Sports Illustrated with Pre on the cover. I pilfered it, and after reading it over and over, I eventually boxed it and put it in my closet with other mementos where it sat for years.

Because Pre is the track and field equivalent of movie-star James Dean, his untimely death has made this edition valuable. I only recently discovered that ones in excellent condition can sell for up to $500.

I saw Pre but once in-person – when he won the NCAA cross-country championship that was held in Spokane in 1973.