As a student at Spokane Falls Community College, I once finished a solo morning run and was about to shower when a young woman walked into the building.

The facility at Spokane Falls had a classroom at each end and men’s locker rooms in the middle. A single corridor ran the length of the building so if you walked into one end, you could see all the way to the other end. There were doors that could block this uninterrupted view, but they were always left open by the custodial staff, and besides, the classrooms were little used. My locker happened to be in the row that was part of this corridor.

The locker rooms are below the grandstand seats which overlook the track and field facility.

When the woman walked in, she saw me undressed, yet walked across the empty classroom to the entrance of the locker room and asked me if this was where the class she was looking for met.

My track coach, who happened to be nearby, heard her and gave directions to the correct building. He closed the door for me, not commenting at all about what just happened.

On another occasion I was the last person to leave after a later than usual afternoon workout when another young woman walked in the same way as the incident I just described. I was caught completely naked.

She was the instructor of an evening exercise class, and after closing the door, reopened it a moment later as two female students behind her looked in. I was still not dressed as we discussed start and ending times for her class and the track team workout.

In both cases these women were not shy about initiating an interaction with me despite my undressedness. Had the roles been reversed, I would have gone out of my way to avoid them, not because I wanted to, but because I’d feel like I was intruding upon their privacy.

As these two incidents show, some women, chancing upon a guy who is revealing more than normal, may be inclined to take advantage of it.

It’s natural for women to reveal especially attractive parts of their body to draw attention from men. Unfortunately, there’s no tradition of men revealing attractive parts in the way women do. If men dare take this step, they also have to be especially careful because of the long history of men using their power to dominate women.

If a man wants to use his body to attract women, he has to do it in a non-aggressive and non-threatening way. By putting himself in a position of vulnerability and allowing the woman to be in a safe place, it can work.

I have found a way to do this, however, I was compelled by my discarnate mentor, and it was not something I would have thought of on my own.

As I mentioned, since there’s no tradition of males dressing in sexually suggestive ways, it was quite stressful being out in public this way, and it has taken a long, long time for me to become comfortable.

In the next post I will go into detail about this, and include a photo of myself to show exactly what this sexually suggestive dressing style Iooks like.

I haven’t written much about human sexuality since running is the topic of this blog; however, I’ll be working on a way to mesh the two in the next few posts.

My disincarnate consultant has advised that my absurd and wacky posts are getting old, and it’s time to explore a new avenue. Since it’s well known that sex sells, I should focus on edgy, racy, risqué posts.

I’ve been a little worried about this because some suggestions have been made, one of which is that I need to put myself in the middle of the action. This will be a challenge as I must reveal some things about myself, and as well, word it in just the right way so instead of being revolting, it’s entertaining and interesting.

Previously I delved in this topic with a couple posts about running fantasies which actually were sexual fantasies. If you click on the link I just provided, you’ll read about a fantasy in which I’m disrobing as a woman watches from her apartment window. Often, fantasies require circumstances over which you have no control, so it seems unlikely they’d come true. However, in this case, the situation and details of my fantasy took place fairly recently. It was nearly a 100% accurate manifestation of thoughts that I had several years earlier.

So in the next few posts I will attempt to convey experiences and situations in a delightful and jolly fashion that will make even the most moral, straight-laced person say, “Aw schucks, that’s no big deal.”

And to myself I say, “How am I going to pull this off?”

I once was involved in a scheme to provide false information to a large daily newspaper.

It went on for most of a summer, and introducing the doctored facts into the newspaper reportage was quite successful. Not once was I questioned, nor was there any hint of suspicion.

When I was in high school, an all-comers track meet was put on by the Spokane Parks Department every Wednesday evening during the summer. My best friends, Dave and Mike Dixon, often entered with me.

The field of runners was small, and we usually had no trouble winning races. A guy recorded the times and names of the winners, and the next day, the results were printed in the sports section of the Spokane Spokesman-Review.

The first week we did this, I won the mile and said my name was Marty Miler. However, the next day, an editor must have thought it was a misspelling because the name was changed to Marty Miller.

We changed out tactics slightly, and the Dixons and I succeeded in our weekly mischief. We were delighted whenever the goofy, made-up names got into the newspaper.

One week the three of us and another friend formed a mile-relay team. Around this time, the world mile record, held by Jim Ryun of the U.S., was broken by Filbert Bayi of Tanzania. Not long after, John Walker of New Zealand broke it again. Another top runner, Marty Liquori of the U.S., was also running great times.

Only the last names of the winning relay team were printed in the paper, which we won. We used the names of the runners I just mentioned, with different first names to avoid being obvious. Anyone following track and field would have caught on, even with the changed first names, but apparently the result-taker was not a track and field guy.

The next day, the Spokesman-Review reported that the team of Ryun, Liquori, Bayi and Walker won the mile relay.

It’s the only time in Spokane history that four of the fastest milers in the world came to town to make stars of themselves at the parks department all-comers meet.

Maybe it seems a little racy going commando-style, which most people know is not wearing underwear. However, most men’s running shorts are outfitted with an internal “holder” which substitutes for underwear and prevents flopping around.

Though I like to dress warmly during the cold months, on warm summer days, it’s more comfortable to rely on the built-in holder. As well, some running short styles are pretty short, and your underwear could show, which I don’t think is fashionable.

When I was younger, all running shorts were short, so it was common to go commando. However, occasionally some problems came up.

Over time, the elastic bands in the holder become less taut, and on occasion it fails to perform. Since most running shorts are made of thin and light material, when this happens, flopping occurs, and it can be obvious.

This has happened to me a few times, and I’m faced with the difficult choice of putting my hands down my shorts to make an adjustment, or just riding it out.

If I’m in a somewhat secluded area, an adjustment is quick and easy. I’m reluctant to fiddle inside my shorts if I think people can see, so usually I’ll keep running until I come to a good spot.

Someday, however, perhaps it’ll become fashionable to run commando in shorts that don’t have the internal holder. In that case, because of my experience, I won’t have much trouble adapting to this new style.

Drilling equipment, storage tanks and big diesel generators may soon be sitting in my front yard. I explained how I had to cancel this year’s Pine and Basalt Marathon in a recent post, but plans were on for resuming the race next year.

After arriving home from work last week, I found a sign in my yard saying my lot is being rezoned from single-family residential to industrial-unrestricted.

I found out the company petitioning for the change has an office in town, and I went right over. At first, no one would talk to me, but after demanding answers, a guy finally met with me.

He said I own the land, but not the mineral rights. When I pointed out how hard I worked to transform my yard from a lawn to a natural setting with indigenous plants mimicking the Eastern Washington landscape, he said it’s nothing but an empty, weedy field.

My front yard is not an empty, weedy field! I also have a thriving population of indigenous animals that Ruby Redpepper helped me establish.

“Yeah, we noticed the wildlife, he said to me. “We’ll have to get rid of them cuz they’ll be in the way.”

Oh, I got hopping mad. I told him there was no way a fracking operation was going to happen in my front yard. He said a team of lawyers will ensure that it will.

I decided to take this issue to the streets. You’ll find me marching from dawn to dusk in front of my house as I fight this terrible injustice.

(Note: This post is a spoof. No oil-fracking company is planning to drill in my front yard.)

Petra has been a character in an on-going romantic drama in this blog, and many people have inquired if she’s real.

Some dialogue I wrote involving Petra and myself actually occurred. In several posts, including the very first one, I describe being swept off my feet by her. This also happened to me; however, there is no Petra in my running group. She is based on someone else.

A bit over a decade ago, a woman held a short term position at my job site. It didn’t take long for me to become especially attracted to her.

Though she seemed interested in me, I thought possibly she was just being friendly or polite. One day I walked past her as she chatted with a work colleague. As we walked in opposite directions, I looked back at her. At the same moment, she did too. With the meeting of our eyes, I knew the attraction was mutual.

We sat next to each other at lunch and talked often, but never veering into “us”. Away from work, I thought of her all the time, and I developed the greatest desire I’ve ever had in my life—to simply be at her side.

As the end of her stay neared, I broke our silence and told her how I felt. I made an arrangement to keep in contact despite it not quite being appropriate. This arrangement was discovered and reported to a supervisor. It caused turmoil and plenty of emotional pain for us both. A workplace barrier was put in place between us and it was very hard to talk to her.

After she finished her duties at my worksite, I spent several months trying to overcome the obstacles that kept us apart. Contacting her was not possible, and I was devastated not being in her company.

Though I not once touched her, I thought of her constantly. My mood alternated from pleasantness of imagining doing simple, everyday things with her, followed by a big sadness.

My grief was so intense, I could not avoid breaking down in tears several times a day. Sometimes there were people around, and it was a chore to stifle it or find some privacy.

The months went by and I went on long walks lasting hours to alleviate my despondency. One afternoon as a bus came toward me, I got the idea to throw myself in its path.

I exalted this woman to such a degree that the term His Airness, which was used to describe Michael Jordan, I modified and thought of her as Her Wonderfulness.

One afternoon I was working in my backyard, and as I day-dreamed pleasantly about Her Wonderfulness, a gust of wind knocked down a storm window, shattering it on rocks. The analogy of a dream being shattered did not escape me. I was upset, but I refused to accept it.

A year and a half after our separation, a reception for a retiring co-worker was planned, and my discarnate mentor highlighted the possibility of Her Wonderfulness attending. I hoped that my long wait to reconnect might happen.

Her Wonderfulness did come; however, she was in the company of her new boyfriend. She and I did not talk.

A few months later, several co-workers and I attended a seminar, and my discarnate mentor hinted over and over that the boyfriend was a rebound relationship, and since Her Wonderfulness and I worked in the same field, she’d be there and we could talk.

She didn’t attend, and I was disappointed. At the lunch break, my work colleagues went to a nearby restaurant. I walked to a nearby park bench and ate alone.

As the seminar was about to resume, a co-worker, the only person I’d confided in about Her Wonderfulness, told me she’d been at the restaurant they went to. She came to their table to show off her engagement ring.

These disappointments are just a few of many involving her. I was never bitter or angry. Instead, after the sadness and grief of each disappointment passed, I regained hope that eventually we’d reconnect.

Around two years after the incident that initiated our separation, my daily crying began to ease, but it took more time to get completely over her.

My discarnate mentor informs me that my pursuit of her, and being thwarted over and over again, has been the most important part of the preparation for my future role, which I detailed in the post My Daily Stress.

The last I’ve heard, she is married and has children. So many years after it happened, the shattering storm window incident has held true.

Though I’m no longer despondent, grief-stricken or need to go on long, daily walks, on rare occasions something will trigger the dormant emotions that I have about her, and I will break down just as I used to do every day.

There’s a Seinfeld episode in which George ponders buying enough clothes so he’ll always have a clean outfit, yet do laundry only once a year. Using this as inspiration, I’m developing a system to achieve the more modest goal of twice-a-year laundering which I believe will be award-winning.

You’ll save lots of time and money, and if you air-dry you’ll shave even more. For years I’ve been stringing a line between the metal posts of my patio for hanging laundry.Running clothes, which are a very needy segment of the laundry population, deserve special attention.

Though running on a hot day can leave a T-shirt soaked with sweat, I’ve found it can be worn a few times before starting to smell. As well, since I often run alone, I can continue wearing the same odoriferous shirt without offending. Most longtime runners, after years of entering races, have enough shirts to easily go six months without washing.

Here are important strategies to follow if you want to be a laundry superstar:

• Don’t wear a coat when it rains. Getting your clothes soaked is just like washing them.
• If an item starts to really smell, store it overnight in an empty pizza box. Your clothing will smell like pizza, and who doesn’t like the smell of pizza?
• When showering or taking a bath, you can clean small items like socks by using them as a wash cloth.
• On rainy days, lay your laundry out in the yard. Phosphorous, an important ingredient in detergent, is a common air pollutant. Combined with rain, it gives your clothes an effective acid wash.
• On warm summer days, choose the no-clothing option. Your friends’ shock will change to admiration when you explain that you’re conserving our planet’s precious resources.

An issue many runners have before a race is using the bathroom.

Whoa, what a smell! Should I use this thing or find some bushes?.

Early in my running career, I used to get very nervous at track meets. I really had to go just before my race, but the output didn’t match the need to go. It became obvious that being nervous had an effect on need to urinate.

I don’t like those two wet spots. This is a Superfund site in the making.

Sometimes the call of nature arises very urgently in the middle of a race. A friend trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon told me she had to go just two miles into the Windermere Marathon in Spokane, so she stopped at a port-a-potty. She missed qualifying for Boston by thirteen seconds.

There’s a YouTube video showing a very famous woman marathoner stopping at the side of the course during a marathon and relieving herself in front of spectators and a running camera. Obviously this was a very embarrassing, yet best option for a dire circumstance.

I’ve never had to stop mid-race to go, but when I was younger, on two occasions I was caught too far from a public restroom while on a winter training run in a residential area. The need to go was so urgent I could not put it off, and I’m not talking No. 1 here.

Knocking on someone’s door would be asking too much, so searching for the best secluded spot was the only option. Yet a typical neighborhood in broad daylight does not have many secluded spots.

In both cases, I solved my issue in a different way. However in one of the cases, “solved” was not a delightful outcome at all. I’ll leave you to ponder what happened.

When Petra accepted a job offer from the National Institute of Running Sciences in Washington, DC, I was very upset saying sayonara to her and our plans of living a lifestyle we call intense realism. However, I talked to Petra on the phone yesterday, and she’s moving back to Spokane.

After getting off the phone with Petra, I jumped for joy.

She has already given her notice and put a deposit down on a place here in town. An incident the first month on the job as director of corporate relations led to the change.

Things started so well that Petra was looking forward to a long career at the Institute. However, one day a group of employees held a spur-of-the-moment stairs vs. elevator race in the Institute building, which happens frequently.

But this time, the Institute’s CEO was part of the group, and he challenged the newbie, Petra, to a race covering twelve floors. The CEO is in his mid-40’s, an excellent runner, and Petra figured he would easily outrun her elevator ride.

In a rare circumstance, no one got on or off the elevator, and it picked up speed with each floor. The CEO also ran into a big group of employees who were going down the stairs for lunch. Petra reached the twelfth floor first, and the CEO begrudgingly acknowledged losing. However, he looked quite displeased the rest of the afternoon. Petra figured losing to a subordinate who was also new on the job did not sit well with him.

A few days later, she was moved from her large, corner office with lots of windows to a cramped, interior one with none. The CEO stopped talking to her and didn’t include her in important meetings.

Petra thinks he felt totally emasculated even though she hadn’t done anything but ride an elevator to the twelfth floor. Trying to interact with the CEO was like talking to a brick wall. Petra said, “There was nothing I could do, and I didn’t see the situation changing anytime soon, so I gave my notice.”

Though I felt badly for Petra, I am so glad she’s coming back to Spokane. And she told me she’s glad things turned out this way because she can’t believe she passed up the chance to live the intense realism lifestyle we envisioned.