CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE

CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE

I called my sister Mary late last night. I was on the back porch drinking IPA and playing guitar. She couldn't talk. "I'm in a casino," she said, whispering as if no one speaks loudly in a casino. "I'm walking into a concert."

Before I could ask which band she was seeing, we said our goodbyes. I dearly love my baby sister. This morning she sent me a video from her seats, Chris Isaak singing "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You." Typing those words now, I feel the actual title should be tighter. I'd make it tighter. Too many words. Dilutes the impact. But you know the song. We all know that song.

BOOK SHAPE

BOOK SHAPE

Sunday morning in the backyard. Six weeks and two days until The Long Run hits stores. It's going to be 90 degrees today. Now might be the best time to hit the trails and log a few miles before it gets too hot. But I'll ride the Peloton instead. Weekends are when the electric bikers and horse people crowd O'Neill. The solitude I crave is nowhere to be found. Weekdays I have the place to myself but Saturday and Sunday is for the masses.

OLYMPIC HANGOVER

OLYMPIC HANGOVER

My barber made small talk during a recent haircut, asking me which sports I favor. We proceeded to talk about the end of football season, the sorry future of the Lakers and LeBron, and a little bit about the Angels just to agree that the owner sucks and needs to sell the team.

We did not talk about the Olympics — the best thing in the sports world for sixteen days every four years. Some people just don't watch the Olympics. To them I say: you don't know what you're missing.

VALENTINE'S DAY

VALENTINE'S DAY

I left the Christmas lights up on the back fence this year, for no other reason than because they looked good and I had defied the laws of nature and my own mechanical limitations by putting them on an automatic timer. Leave Christmas lights up on the front of the house and you get a sharply-worded letter from the HOA. Leave them up out back and you don't get anything but a label as someone who is either lazy or eccentric. I am not the first but I'm definitely the second. Most of all, however, I am a romantic.

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A SEASON

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A SEASON

We were wrapping up the Saturday long run. The creek is high in O'Neill so we couldn't get across. What was meant to be ten miles turned out to be a little less than seven. But I threw in a few hill loops ("slopes") on Twisty and a hard uphill tempo Mesa finish. What we lacked in mileage we made up for in quality. I didn't love it but I was OK with it. The slow build as we approach track season means more emphasis on flexibility to prevent injury. Better to do too little than too much.