About a week and a half ago, I jammed my toe and tripped while going down some stairs at home. It was near the bottom of the staircase, and the fall didn’t hurt, but my toe didn’t come out of it so well.

I posted the above photo on Facebook and an acquaintance, Jim Hoppe, commented that competitors in the Leadville 100 often have similar looking toes after the race and use drills to relieve pressure under the nail. He recommended a ¼ inch bit. I replied I’d done it before, unsuccessfully using the back-door method to work on a tooth in the back of my mouth. I posted a photo as proof.

To be real, this is a gag photo taken when I was a college student.

I just finished a three-week layoff for a minor calf muscle tear, If the toe is broken, I’m looking at another five weeks. It’s the second time I’ve broken this toe.

When I was a 19-year-old, I entered the mile at an all-comers track meet at Spokane Community College. It was mid-June, school had just gotten out, and I’d been running only a short time because I’d missed the outdoor track season with a stress fracture.

At the meet, I told my longtime friend, Dave Dixon, who ran for the University of Idaho, that I wanted to get under 4:20 during the summer. He expressed doubt, knowing that I just resumed running.

I finished the race in 4:29, and Dave said to me afterward, “Maybe you can get under 4:20.” A few days later, we were horsing around, wrestling, and my foot got slammed against his foot. Broken toe – end of sub-4:20 quest.

When I was younger, I got injured over and over, causing a lot of disappointment and frustration. I’ve had stress fractures in both tibias, both fibulas, both feet, and both femurs – all on separate occasions. I’ve had tendinitis, shin splints, a torn meniscus – twice, and multiple episodes with lower back pain that ultimately ended in back surgery. Three times in my running career I’ve had to lay off from running for a year or more.

When I get injured these days, instead of disappointment, it’s a shoulder shrug and an “Oh, well”. Though I never realized the times I was capable of, I’m grateful for all the friends I’ve met through running, and that I’m healthy, usually uninjured and can still run.

(To start off the new year, I’m re-posting a blog entry from July 26th, which I consider one of my top ones from 2013. I’ll resume with new posts next week.)

When there are only two people in a room, one a man, one a woman, and I’m the man, it’s natural for me to want her attention. This was the situation when I went to a coffee shop this morning.

After doing a seven-miler early to avoid the heat, I walked to a coffee place near my house at the corner of Wall and Nebraska. The morning rush was over and the woman in front of me, electing not to purchase the caramel cinnamon roll because it’d be too much, was the only other customer in the shop.

After she took a chair in the seating area, I ordered my usual 12-ounce mocha and for the first time ever, a caramel cinnamon roll.

I sat a couple tables away, noticing she had a top with stylized lettering on her sleeve that read AFS. I offered an apology for interrupting her reading of The Inlander and asked if AFS stood for Awesomely Fast Sprinter.

She said it was natural for me to think of a running-related term after I mentioned I was a runner, but AFS stood for the company she owned, Animal Fulfillment Specialists.

After a few minutes of chat, I told her the caramel cinnamon roll she thought about getting was beyond delicious and offered to share. Her shy smile told me it was okay to move to her table.

She had flown in from the East Coast a couple days earlier. Her company provides unique experiences for people using both ordinary and unusual animals. She was in Spokane arranging a wagon pulled by a horse, an ox, a camel, and an alpaca for a 16-year-old’s birthday party.

When I remarked on the diversity of the wagon-pulling team, she said that was only the start. Riding in the wagon with the birthday celebrants were guinea hens, Peruvian ferrets, ocelot kittens, and long-haired fedoras.

When I questioned her apparent mistake, she said in the southern Brazilian state of San Rio Escalana, natives know that long-haired fedoras are not hat wear.

Though she mentioned her husband was arriving later in the day to assist with the birthday wagon, as I departed, I asked if she was willing to go on a drive together in the country sometime and identify animals for me.

She shook my hand and broke into a smile. “I have lots of experience with that. I’m a great animal identifier.”

The second week of September I traveled solo to Whistler, BC , the famous ski resort town to do high altitude training for a couple 10k’s I had coming up.

After a two-day drive, I checked into a hotel and headed out for a run. Not a hundred yards into it, I realized I made a big mistake. Because Whistler is a ski-resort town, I assumed it was high elevation. Not so, as this ski lift station shows.

So my two-day drive to do some altitude training was worthless. My house in Spokane, at a little over 2,000 feet, isn’t much different in elevation. After my run I decided to focus on hiking, which is the real reason why I went to Whistler.

The next day I left town by foot and hiked into the high country to explore. I covered about 23 miles by the time I got back.

I came across a couple deer that I wanted to wrestle, but they refused to participate.

As I gained elevation, I came across huckleberries, and couldn’t believe how huge they were. I picked a bunch, and when I popped them in my mouth, realized something was wrong. They weren’t huckleberries. They were blueberries, a close relative, which are very bland compared to huckleberries.

Though I stayed on a trail most of the time, I went off-trail to explore interesting features or areas. On a lonely knoll above timberline, I came across a marmot sunning itself on a rock. I was surprised how close he let me get.

After three days in Whistler, I spent a night in Kamloops and then Nelson, BC as I made my way back to Spokane. I used to take road trips frequently when I was married and had kids, but after divorcing, I worried I wouldn’t like doing them solitary. But I enjoy myself just as much as accompanied trips.

Ever spent a winter night outside because a locked door left you stranded? It nearly happened to me, but thanks to an orange, I found shelter.

When I was a college sophomore, our track team traveled to Washington State University, the school I transferred to after my two years of junior college, for an early season, indoor meet. A couple teammates had a friend who lived in a dorm, and we arranged to stay the night after the track meet.

In the photo below, I’m running the two-mile for Spokane Falls CC at the meet. I still remember my time – 9:46. The track program at SFCC has since merged with Spokane’s other junior college and today is called CCS (Community Colleges of Spokane).

After the track meet, the three of us went out for the evening. Our last stop was at a large dance club. I made a new friend and when it was time to leave, I got a ride with her friends and ended up at her place.

I had a fifteen minute walk across the quiet, desolate campus after saying good-by to her; however, the dorm door was locked. It was 3 AM and after hanging out at the entrance for a while, it appeared I’d have little hope of someone entering or leaving soon.

I searched for something to throw at the dorm room window, and the best I could do was an orange laying in the shrubs.

It took a strong throw to reach the window because it was five stories up. I had to stand close to the building, which meant even if I was on target, the orange would only tap the window lightly.

I threw the orange a bunch of times. It took a while to get some accuracy, and I had to catch it coming down so it wouldn’t smash on the ground. The third time I made contact on the window, a light went on and our host looked out. He came down and let me in.The orange above isn’t the one used, but it resembles it. It’s the same color, shape and even smells the same. Just for fun, I sometimes throw an orange into the air and catch it to celebrate my rescue from that cold, winter night.

Taking a spill while running can be painful and embarrassing. Even worse is doing it within view of lots of people.

I once misjudged a curb as I hopped onto a sidewalk on a very busy street. I performed a spread-eagle landing in front of a lot of traffic.

Another time I was part of a rare, interactive double fall. When I was in my mid-20’s, a former girlfriend and I were running through a residential area when she tripped and fell right in front of me. I tripped over her and rolled across the sidewalk. If someone had captured the moment on video, I’m sure they’d be making money with all the views on YouTube.

Considering how many years I’ve been running, taking a fall is pretty rare. I run year-round and have plenty of experience with snow and icy roads, yet most of my falls have been on dry, level ground.

After falling, my first instinct is to get right up and resume running to minimize the embarrassment. However, a few years ago I inexplicably tripped on smooth, newly poured concrete. My knee hurt so bad that I just sat there rubbing it, not giving a care to passing cars or watchful residents. After a few minutes it felt better, and I was able to continue running.

Lucky for me, my spills have caused nothing but temporary pain and a scraped-up limb. I know others who’ve broken bones requiring surgery and a long break from running.

If you’ve been a runner for a long time and never taken a dive, let me know. I’d like to present you an award for exceptional sure-footedness.

Earlier in the year I wrote about a meltdown I had in the finish area of the Teen Closet 50 Mile relay race. Last weekend I ran in the Jingle Bell 5K and nearly had another meltdown.

I was one of 18 members of Shari’s Team, some of whom are in the photo below. Shari Irwin, in the front row wearing the red jacket, was responsible for raising over $700 for the Arthritis Foundation by putting together our team. I’m in the back row, second from right, wearing a headband.

As the race started, I ran at an easy pace because I’d already done five miles with the Manito Running Club earlier in the morning. However, after a half mile or so, my competitive side came alive.

I picked it up, and Jill Heuer Gilson, wearing the pink jacket in the photo above, was just ahead of me and moving up also. I had my sights on her, but despite a couple miles of gap-closing opportunity, I gained little ground, and she finished several seconds ahead of me.

“Jill,” I said after the race, “Why didn’t you get tired? I wanted to finish ahead of you.”

She apologized and offered her condolences for my inability to catch up. She said that she wasn’t aware I was trying to catch her, otherwise, she would have slowed down to let me go by.

“Well, Jill,” I said. “That’s nice of you to say, but you didn’t actually do it, and I don’t like that.”

“Jim!” she said, giving me a gentle shove. “You’re a globnorb.”

My back stiffened and I glared at her. “Listen, Jill, I am NOT a globnorb.”

“Oh, yes you are, and you’re also a snurkglip.”

“A snurkglip? What’s that?”

“Take a look in a mirror, Jim. It’s a person who has their headband on backwards and upside down.”

In my last post, I wrote about confiscating the medal of the 2013 Newport Autumn Bloom 10K women’s overall winner for being loud and talky while running. My friend, Matthew Kee, reported this to the race director and surprisingly, because I had possession of the medal, the race results were updated, and I’m now the women’s overall winner. This gave me an idea on how I could improve my racing performance for the past year.

A friend of mine, Gary Lewis, was the Autumn Bloom 5K winner. I knew he was having trouble installing a new engine in his car, so I offered to help if he gave me his medal. He agreed and after a long afternoon, his car was like new, and I had another medal. I called the race director with the information, and she said she’d update the results. She congratulated me on my win.

Another friend, James Dalton, showed up at our Flying Irish Club run wearing a medal for winning a 5-mile race he’d done over the weekend. The club president wanted to take photos of the men’s and women’s winners with their medals. I know this may seem shabby, but after the photo, James left his medal on a table, and I took it.

The next day, I called the race director and told him that I now held the medal, and the results should be updated. However, he said anyone could claim to have the medal. I told him I’d email a photo of me with the medal, which I did. After another lengthy phone call, he said he just couldn’t change the results.

It’s an outrage, and it’s intensely unfair. But how can the average citizen win against the powerful corporate elite. At the next Flying Irish run I returned the medal to James, telling him I found it laying in the parking lot. James bought me a beer in appreciation which helped ease my outrage.

Over the course of a few days, I managed to acquire several more medals from race winners. Below is a table showing how well I’ve done this year.

Jim’s Race Performances for 2013

•      Men’s overall winner  –  5 races
•      Women’s overall winner  –  2 races
•      Winner and new course record holder  –  1 race
•      Rude race directors who refused to change results  –  2 races

I like wearing my medals everywhere I go because I’m proud of my accomplishments. As well, people look at me like I’m a movie star.

A reporter for a local TV station happened to see me while I was downtown yesterday. She stopped me and asked about the medals. She was so impressed that she arranged an interview, and I’ll be featured on a newscast in the very near future.

Though I regularly run with a couple running clubs, I enjoy my solitary runs. Stopping to admire scenery, thoughts I have while running, and spur of the moment route selection are nice. However, I experienced a major disruption on my last outing.

I was approaching an intersection, and I heard very loud laughing, a shriek, and excited, fast conversation. Into the intersection came three women runners. They were in their early to mid-30’s, in very good shape, and one was talking about something that was cracking up the other two. As they passed through the intersection, as loud as can be, I thought how extremely, intolerably, and profoundly rude they were. My pleasant, quiet run was in shambles. I stopped in the middle of the intersection and stared. They hadn’t even noticed me, and they were quickly moving on with no idea the disruption they caused. This was not right.

I took off after them. As I caught up, I recognized one. I talked to her briefly after a 10K race I did last month. “Girls,” I said firmly, “You’re much too loud. Three people in the last block were covering their ears and shaking fists at you, and I’m quite upset as well.”

“Are you serious?” One asked, looking back.

“Yes. Actually it was five people.”

The woman I talked to at the race smiled at me. “Hey, I met you at the Autumn Classic 10K last month.”

I ran with them a few blocks and offered fair and lenient terms for their noise violations. However, as often happens when I attempt to administer truth and justice, they turned the table and said I was in the wrong. I had interrupted their conversation, gave false testimony, and ruined their day beyond repair.

In the end, Jessica, the one I’d met at the 10K, agreed to atone for the group by forfeiting the medal she’d won as overall women’s winner.