Ever faced the possibility of spending 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 to have some fun.

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).

In the evening following the track meet, the three of us went out. Our last stop was at a large dance club. I made a new friend there 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 my friend. Arriving at the dorm, I found the door 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 anytime soon.

I searched for something to throw at the dorm room window, and the best I could do was an orange I found 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, but it took a while to get some accuracy. I also had to catch it coming down so it wouldn’t get smushed. 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 pictured above is not the actual one used, but it has an amazing resemblance. It’s the same color and shape as the one I used, and it even smells the same. Just for fun, I sometimes throw oranges high into the air and catch them to celebrate my orangey 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.

A Caucasian Rastafarian in dreads, sporting a flowered necklace and pant patches extolling a carefree and easy-going lifestyle showed up at the Monster Mash 5K last Sunday at Manito Park in Spokane Washington.

The Rastafarian was not a Jamaican, but me, in my Halloween outfit. I ran at an easy pace, staying in character by having a good time, encouraging others, and offering “medicine” for my fellow runners to feel good and mellow out.

The Monster Mash 5K raises money for a group called Active4Youth, which funds after school running programs for Spokane area elementary schools. Over 500 entrants, nearly all in costume, entered the race.

By the time Halloween is over, I’ll have worn my outfit on several occasions. As many people know, marijuana is an integral element of the Rastafarian lifestyle. Since Washington state legalized it last year, I knew I’d be okay including some extra large joints as an accessory.

I offered my stash to many, and though I received very positive comments, especially regarding the size, there were no takers. This was a good thing because despite the benefits of smoking weed, I normally don’t indulge, so I had to make the joints with the best substitute I had on hand – dried catnip.

It was fun dressing as a Rastafarian, but I was hoping for a fringe benefit that didn’t work out. Despite immersing myself in Rasta culture, I was not able to turn into a hit-producing performer of reggae music.

A lot of serious runners incorporate hill workouts in their training; however, what do you do if you live in a very flat place, or the hills aren’t close by? (It’s maddening when hills are inconveniently located.)

If this is the case, your only option is a stair workout. Hopefully there’s a tall building where you can access the stairwell. If not, you’ll have to make do with what’s available. Below is where I go for my stair training.

Yes, I have to do a lot of reps for a good workout; however, these stairs are very conveniently located. It’s my front porch.

There’s a decent grade not too far from my house where I can train, so I don’t really use my porch for running. However, I still get in some stair workouts with the Flying Irish, the running group I often join.

We have a route call Stairmaster which hits several sets of stairs in the three-mile route. A couple are pictured below.

The two photos below are me in the middle of a recent stair workout. I forgot my camera, so after arriving home, I googled, “Jim doing stair workout”, and these photos showed up from Google Earth. I’m surprised the angles those satellite cameras can get.

Distance being equal, I think it’s fair to say that stairs are more demanding than hills. When I do stairs, it’s two at a time, at least. Stairs are constructed for walking, so a running stride just doesn’t match up to one stair at a time.

If you’re on a long, tiring run and incorporate a stairway with lots of stairs, I won’t yell at you if you do one at a time. But if I find out you walked them, I’ll require you to attend my two-hour seminar on running stairs.

In my many years of running, I’ve never scaled back my training because of the weather. When it’s especially bad, I like going for a run even more because of the challenge.

The only time I passed up running because of bad conditions was when Ice Storm hit the Spokane area in 1996. Heavy snow followed by frozen rain brought down trees and power lines. Back then I took the bus to work and did a six mile run home. I was about to leave when my wife at the time showed up and said it was crazy to run, and she was driving me home. Only because she asserted herself did I relent. As we drove home, I saw how right she was.

The coldest temperature I’ve run in is -15 degrees F. When it gets very cold, I wear a cap, three layers on my upper body, two layers for the legs, and mittens over gloves because my hands are especially susceptible to cold. I wear nothing extra on my feet – they always stay warm. However, years ago I learned a hard lesson about a body part you normally don’t worry about while running.

One afternoon I went running when it was around 12 degrees fahrenheit. A very strong wind was blowing, and it went right through the sweat pants I was wearing. A very important body part got very, very cold. So cold that I was in a lot of pain the last couple miles of my run.

You’ve probably experienced how the thawing process of a very cold body part can be painful. Well, that’s how it was for me after I got home. I thought I would have permanent damage. It took a long, achy time for this part to finally return to its normal condition.

Nowadays, anytime it’s below 15 degrees F, I stuff something into my training pants, usually a sock, for added protection.