Journal entry 092310: Call of adventure

I’ll admit I have dipping my toe into the cycling world lately. Even that might be an overstatement since I’ve been riding only once a week. But that small bit has brought back a lot of stories I’d filed away in the back of my memory. Bicycling used to be a big part of my life – not as competition but transportation.

A couple of weeks ago Cyndi and I enjoyed dinner at Abuelo’s with long time friend Rickey Woody, and in the course of reliving our high school days Rick reminded me of a bike trip I took. I believe what he said was, “I can’t believe you guys tried to do that.”

I said, “I can’t believe my mother let us try it.”

It happened one summer, either the summer before our sophomore year in high school (1972) or the summer before our senior year in high school (1973). I don’t remember which. We were living in Hobbs, New Mexico.

My friend Doug White and I had spent the summer riding our 10-speed bicycles all over town, and somehow along the way we decided to take an epic bike trip across the state. After discussing all our options, we decided to ride our bikes to Cloudcroft, 168 miles from Hobbs with a 5,000’ increase in elevation.

Looking back I realize this is the sort of over-the-top challenge that usually is the result of too much bragging mixed with too much alcohol, but there was no alcohol involved in any of this. Rather, it was just the youthful yearning for epic adventure.

I don’t remember exactly what type of bicycles we had other than they were standard-issue 10-speeds. I’m sure they were heavy, especially in today’s terms. I think my bike was a Volksycle purchased at Mack’s Sharp Shop down the street from our house. I have no idea what Doug rode.

I’m sure we wore Levi cut-offs and T-shirts, the official summer uniform in the 1970s. We certainly didn’t have any performance cycling clothing, and probably didn’t know it existed. Of course, we didn’t have helmets, either. I guess it was safe back then. I don’t remember gloves, either. I’m also sure we wore whatever tennis shoes we had for the summer, and certainly no toe clips on the pedals.

We traveled with sleeping bags, change of clothes, food, water, and tools for roadside repairs. All of that was tied onto our bikes. I’m sure we also took money but I don’t remember how much … probably not near enough since teenagers always underestimate how much money it takes to do anything.

We don’t have any photos of the trip in my family’s collections. Maybe Doug’s family has one or two, but I doubt it. Before digital cameras people didn’t take as many photos. Nowadays I’d be uploading photos minute-by-minute from my phone, but not in the 1970s.

We left Hobbs early one morning just when it was getting light enough to ride. We rode to the southwest part of town and took US Highway 62/180 west toward an intersection of roads called Arkansas Junction where we joined NM Highway 529 and rode and rode and rode. We stayed on the narrow shoulder of the two lane highway, hanging on to our bikes as oil field trucks whizzed past.

It was a long lonely highway and we didn’t come to our first town until we reached Loco Hills, NM, 52 miles from Hobbs. We were grateful for a place to stop for lunch. In the small café there was a chalkboard that said, “Today’s menu: Bowl of chili or Hamburger.” We had hamburgers.

We rolled out of Loco Hills after lunch and headed west on US Highway 82 toward Artesia, another 20 miles away. Our original plan was to ride through Artesia and on to Hope, a tiny town with population less than 100, were we would camp on the ground for the night. There was an abandoned gas station beside the highway and we figured we could set up under the awning.

We rode close together all the way from Hobbs to Loco Hills, but sometime after lunch we split up. I had been pedaling along with my head down – no iPod for entertainment, no mirror to check behind me – when I discovered I was riding alone. I had no idea how far back we’d gotten separated, but I couldn’t see Doug at all. I rode my bike up to an abandoned oil field supply warehouse that had a huge open door facing east, parked my bike in the shade, and sat on the ground to wait for Doug. When he rode by I thought he might stop for a break in the shade but he looked at me and kept riding. I think he was mad at me for dropping him. I didn’t do it on purpose, and never knew when it happened, but I probably would’ve been mad at him had the roles been reversed. It isn’t fun to be left behind.

I got back on my bike and caught up to Doug and we rode together all the way into Artesia. Once we crossed into town Doug got sick. I think he’d been suffering for a long time but wouldn’t talk about it. Once we crossed the city limits, however, he got off his bike and threw up into the bushes. It wasn’t a good sign for the rest of our adventure.

I think it was clear to both of us by now that we were in no shape to continue our trip, but being guys we’d have kept going anyway to the point of collapse, neither wanting to be the one to quit. However, now that Doug was obviously sick, it was over. He said, “This is it for me. I can’t go any further.” He had been recovering from a case of mononucleosis and thought it was all behind him, but 78 miles of bike riding brought it all back. Maybe it was a gift for both of us. It was better to stop in a town than alongside a deserted New Mexico highway.

Doug knew a family friend on the Artesia police force; we phoned him and he took us in for the afternoon. We slept for a long time in the air conditioning at his house. Doug phoned his parents who agreed to drive to Artesia and bring us back to Hobbs.

As it turned out, a huge thunderstorm rolled off the mountains than night and dumped 2” of rain on Hope. We would’ve been soaked in our sleeping bags had we spent the night there.

The call of adventure is a mighty thing. The urge to do something bigger than ourselves, to live our lives in the big story can be irresistible. Doug and I had ridden all the roads in Hobbs that summer and we needed something bigger to do. The fact we were unable to complete our trip was surely a blessing since we weren’t fit enough or equipped enough for what we were trying to do, but it is still one of my happiest memories. It was a time when my friend and I were brave and reckless and bulletproof and willing to try the impossible.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 091610: Crick in the neck

There are things I thought I’d be better at by now, and sleeping was one of them. Yet, I woke up this morning with a painful crick in my neck, on my left side where my neck meets my left shoulder. How did that happen?

In fact, I’ve never understood how cricks happen. How is it possible to sleep in a position so out of alignment it creates a sore spot? If I were awake and I felt part of me getting stiff or cranky, I would change positions – I would do it unconsciously without thinking. Just move.

So why don’t I change positions while sleeping if my body is so uncomfortable it produces a crick? If I’m sleeping at such a bad angle as to cause a muscle cramp or stiffness, why don’t I just roll over?

After all, I toss and turn all night long anyway, and I don’t know what cause me to do that. It apparently doesn’t require conscious thought since I’m asleep when I do it, yet enough of my brain cells are still on alert to tell me to roll over. Why don’t those same vanguard brain cells notice that I’ve laid crooked too long and about to do damage and so tell my body to go ahead and roll over now?

Since I am over 50-years-old I am up and out of bed at least once every night. It seems that should be enough movement to prevent getting a crick.

Of course I’m usually stiff and soar after I go for a long run, but that only makes sense. If I use my legs and arms in repetitive motion for an hour without stopping I’ll be sore later on.

But when I’m sleep, I’m relaxed and horizontal and do not engage in any repetitive movements. So how can I build up enough stress or fatigue to cause the sourness in my neck?

I guess it could be true that I would have cricks every morning if I didn’t toss and turn, and maybe my nighttime brain cells are doing the best they can to prevent morning soreness, but they occasionally make a mistake and miss a rollover, so here I sit with a stiff neck.

I know, I know, who cares, right? Maybe I’m just proving the theory of my friend who says that all writers are whiners. Maybe he’s right. But whining or not, I have this crick in my left neck and it’s going to bug me all morning and I just thought you should know.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 090910: Once more into the desert

I recently found one of my old 3x5cards with this question written on it: “Why does the desert have such a hold on me?”

One reason is because the desert is so stark and minimal, stripped of all excess. There is no pretention in the desert. What you see is what you get, and you can see a lot since none of it is hiding behind trees. And in the desert you can always see the horizon. You don’t have to worry about falling off the edge as long as you can see the horizon.

I enjoy the Guadalupe Mountains even though you have to carry all your water, making hiking and backpacking there very difficult. I love to sit up on Bush Mountain or Hunter Peak and look out across the desert expanse and imagine ancient oceans and infinite possibilities.

I’m not exclusive about the desert. I also love being around water and trees. I had a great time hiking in Tahoe and in the Rocky Mountains National Park and in the Pecos Wilderness. Maybe the real reason I like desert mountains is because those are the type of mountains closest to my home.

And I keep going back to the mountains because I need to feel dirt under my feet; because I need to live, even if only for two nights, off of whatever I can carry on my back; and because God speaks to me most often when I am moving. Dirt trails are a big part of my spiritual journey, and being on top of mountains helps keep my eyes open to the larger, wider, wilder world around me.

I think about spiritual journey a lot; most of my theology and philosophy is based on the notion of being on a journey. We’re always moving into the future – sometimes the trail goes uphill and sometimes it goes downhill. Sometimes it goes on smooth paved pathways, and sometimes on rocky unstable trails.

I was reading I Corinthians 2:13-16 (Phillips), “… you must be spiritual to see spiritual things. The spiritual man, on the other hand, has an insight into the meaning of everything …” I was intrigued that it is says the spiritual man has insights into everything. Does that mean becoming more spiritual gives us more insight into physics, into geography or art, or into marathon running and mountain climbing? Is that what it says?

I believe so. Spiritual insight changes our perspective and opens our eyes to the bigger picture of time and life. Once we know and accept that there are deep wisdoms that can’t be quantified, that there is a reality that exists apart from what we can see and hear and touch, it changes our perception of everything else. Once we know there is more than meets the eye, our insight into everything changes.

So we can go backpacking knowing because we are living in a bigger unseen spiritual world we may be changed in ways we can’t imagine or anticipate. We can read books on a wide range of topics and know God can and will speak to us through any of them because God is bigger than our choices.

Well, the reason I rediscovered the old 3x5 card (with the question on it) was because I was digging through my backpacking file looking for my gear list. I have a two-nighter at Pine Top coming up with my good friend, David Nobles (and maybe others if we can talk anyone else into joining us), and it is time to start gathering up my stuff for the journey.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal Entry 090210: What I learned from a good dog

“Do you think we get the dogs we need?” was the question writer Jon Katz asked on his Facebook page this past week. In our case, regarding Lady the Running Labrador, we got exactly who we needed. She lived with us 12-1/2 years, ran thousands of miles with us, and in her own fashion wriggled her way into the hearts of two non-dog-people in the most subtle ways. To paraphrase John Grogan: “She was one of those dogs that give dogs a good name.”

Lady is gone now. She died last Saturday afternoon, August 28, on the table at the vet’s office. But her influence on Cyndi and me will last a long time. Maybe the rest of our lives.

When Lady joined our family in 1998 she immediately fit in, partly because she was so un-demanding. She lived very lightly among us. She entertained herself and didn’t want much attention.

That was perfect, since we have never been overly-accommodating people. Not that we are stubborn or mean or always insist on our own way, but we expect everyone in the house to make their own way, pick up their own stuff, take care of their own clothes, eat what everyone else eats, carry their own stuff in from the car, and heal themselves when sick. We have been accused of being the no-mercy family, and it is true that when Cyndi and I have taken those spiritual gifts surveys mercy ends up at the bottom of both our lists, but we try not to be mean or judgmental. We just expect each person to pull up their pants and take care of their own stuff. Lady fit right in with us.

But more importantly, Lady loved running even more than we did. She never complained if we asked her to run twice in a day, or if it was raining, or cold, or if the spring wind was howling. She was always ready to go. Lady ran almost daily with one or more members of our family for 10 years; literally, thousands of miles.

My earliest documented run with her was a five-miler through Grasslands on May 13, 1998. I don’t know if Cyndi or Katie ran with her before I did (they didn’t keep detailed running logs of their own). For years I ran with her two or three times a week during the evenings. For even more years and more miles, Cyndi ran with Lady in the early mornings and on weekend long runs. In her prime it was nothing for Lady to go 10 or 12 miles with Cyndi every Saturday morning.

About three years ago Lady had aged to the point she couldn’t run more than a few blocks, however she still loved to go and she would get so excited when she knew either of us – me or Cyndi – was getting dressed to run. We felt guilty leaving her behind because she wanted to go so badly, but she was no longer capable. There were times when we would carry our running gear out into the garage to change where she couldn’t see us so we could sneak out the garage door and go running without her, guilt free.

As Lady got older she also got more and more “in the way.” She wanted to lie on the floor at our feet all the time. She wanted to sleep on the floor of our bedroom right next to one of us, right where we put our feet if we got up at night, making a big target for tripping in the middle of the night. We adjusted to her being underfoot, and in fact, we liked it. She still didn’t care much to be petted or rubbed, but she wanted to be close to us. It was sweet and tender to watch her follow us around the house.

She had a knack for camping out directly in the path of the most traffic. For example last month at our Cornfest she flopped on the floor sound asleep in the kitchen directly in the path of people who were navigating the food line and filling their plates and balancing drinks and babies. You might conclude that she did it on purpose in order to get attention from people except that she didn’t pay attention to any of us. She was happy to lie on the floor and ignore any humans in the house.

She was always independent and self-contained, and content with minimal attention from us. To pet her you had to be the one to cross the room, and you had to get your rubbing in before she got tired of the whole thing and wandered off to be by herself. It felt like she was giving us a turn instead of wanting one for herself. There were many occasions when I know she saw me drop my hands and encourage her to come over so I could rub her ears; yet I could tell she was weighing in her mind whether it was worth the walk across the room, only to decide it wasn’t worth it and she would lay down on the floor looking off in the other direction. My brother Carroll once described her during a late-night telephone conversation about our dogs, “Lady is a working dog, not a lap dog.”

She wouldn’t push herself on anyone. She wouldn’t beg for attention (although she might beg for an occasional pizza crust) or jump in your lap or expect you to play with her. Sometimes I wished she were more aggressive in seeking my affection, so I wouldn’t feel guilty about ignoring her or taking her for granted.

I remember one time during the holidays when I was at home by myself putting books on the shelves, carrying boxes from the garage, and putting stuff in my closet. Every time I changed rooms Lady would follow me and curl up on the floor. But I was moving from room to room a lot and she had to get up to follow and then curl up again, and then get up to follow again, over and over. I started feeling guilty that she was moving so often and I tried to bunch my trips more. I even tried to sneak out of the room one time. I realized what a strange situation that I was worried about inconveniencing her and all she wanted to do was hang out with me. There was a measure of grace in that.

She wanted to be in the same room but she typically laid down facing away. Her eyes might be open but she showed no interest in watching the people in the room. One day I said to Cyndi, “It’s as if she wants to be with us but she’s too cool to act like she needs us. So she lays down close and then stares the other direction. It’s like having a teenager in the house again.”

Cyndi disagreed. “No, she’s being part of our family without placing demands on us. She’s doing what she’s always done.”

And then Cyndi said, “But she’s taught us to be more accommodating and gentle around her.”

Cyndi was correct. We were more careful when we opened doors, or scooted back in our chairs, or lowered the foot rest to the recliner. Instead of getting mad that she was always in the way, we were happy for her gentleness and happy to step around her.

I can’t count how many times she laid down against the back legs of my chair so I couldn’t scoot back to go refill my drink but had to crawl out of the chair sideways, or against the shower door so Cyndi couldn’t open it to get her towel, or against the door to the garage so we bumped into her when we got home and came inside. She would lay down under the library table so there was not enough room for our feet. Maybe this was her way of interacting with us. She wouldn’t play, so she got in the way.

Lady used to lie down directly under the elevated footrest when I was sitting in my recliner, so close that I couldn’t lower the chair without mashing her. I would have to crawl over the arms of the chair to keep from disturbing her. To be honest I was surprised at my own tolerance of Lady. I guess I loved the whole package of her, good and bad, easy or inconvenient. In fact, not only did I tolerate her under my chair, I missed her if she was in the other room.

I remember one night when I woke up about 1:30 AM and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I grabbed my book and glasses and moved to the living room couch. Lady came along with me (she had been sleeping at the foot of our bed). She curled up on the floor beside the couch near my head and went back to sleep. About every 20 minutes she sat up and laid her chin on the couch and on my book to see what was going on. Maybe she was getting a closer look at me, or maybe she was checking in, or maybe she knew I had been restless and not sleeping and she was offering the best comfort she had without intruding.

By the time we moved to our current house in Woodland Park about 1-1/2 years ago, Lady was too weak to run at all. By then, she knew it, too. She didn’t press to go along. But she loved her twice-daily walks through the park. Toward the end her back legs were so weak and frail she would hobble along, often sitting to rest a couple of time before finishing the walk.

There has been some dispute regarding Lady’s actual age, as if she were a Chinese gymnast in the 2008 summer Olympics. She was a full-sized dog when we first got her in the spring of 1998. At her first visit the vet guessed her birthday to be 1993 based on her teeth; however, that means she was 17 years old when she died, or 50% older than her expected life span. A month before her death, we were at our annual vet visit, and Dr. Sheele said she was the oldest dog in his practice. He also said she had great heart and lungs.

The last time I took her on a walk was Friday morning before she died, and she was barely mobile. She looked like a loose bag of bones. I remember sitting on one of the park benches and staring into her eyes, and she seemed to be telling me she was tired and ready to quit. Enough was enough.

In his book, “Have a Little Faith,” Mitch Albom wrote about a dying friend whose declining health “was like a slow leak from a balloon.” By Friday morning the balloon that had been Lady had leaked down to skin and bones, and by Saturday it was deflated and limp.

Through the years my relationship with Lady often reminded me of my relationship with God. Like God, Lady wasn’t pushy and wasn’t aggressive even when I wanted her to be. She waited for me to make the first move, but even then she was always nearby. All she wanted to do was hang out with us and love on us in her fashion. And the longer our time together the more I valued our walks outside. I guess I just wanted to take care of her in my own fashion, as she had taken care of me all these years.

Cyndi and I have never been true dog lovers, but Lady ran her way into our lives. It is impossible to imagine the past twelve years without her, and impossible to share so many miles with anyone – dog or person – without growing affection. In her final years she taught us about grace and how important it was to make room in our hearts for each other. The inconveniences weren’t meant to be inconvenient; they were questions – do you still have room for me?

Lady was on my mind one morning when I read from my Daily Bible. Psalm 27:4 says, “One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.” The Message says, “I’ll study at his feet.” Isn’t that sweet?

I thought of Lady, who just wanted to be in our house lying at our feet, very close. I want to live with God that same way. I want to live my life just like Lady.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Several months ago I wrote a whole string of stories about Lady; I guess I knew in my bones that this moment was coming and I wanted to tell the stories while I could still think clearly. If you’re interested in reading more, here they are:

http://journalentries.typepad.com/family_stories/2010/09/writing-about-lady-the-running-labrador.html

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 082610: In the long run

Friday morning I ran 20 miles. In the old days I saved my long runs for Saturday morning, but lately I’ve been on childcare duty Saturday mornings so I’ve pushed them to Friday. I got up with Cyndi at 5:00 AM, and left around 5:30. Cyndi had to get up to teach Body Pump at Gold’s Gym, making it easier for me get my body out of bed. I needed to get started early so I could finish before the temperature hit 80*F.

I had been laying awake in bed for about thirty minutes going over my gear list for the run. I’ve been running now for over 32 years, more than 35,000 miles, and I have a pretty good handle on what I need to carry with me on a long run. It isn’t much: (a) Preemptive band-aids, moleskin, and Advil; (b) Interval timer; (c) Garmin 405 GPS watch; (d) iPod; (e) Camelback; (f) Sunglasses; (g) Handheld digital recorder; (h) Money; (i) ID; and (k) Shorts, shirt, socks, shoes. Anything else has to earn its way into my kit.

This time I didn’t take any energy gel blocks or GU or electrolyte chews or any of that. I did take some Jolly Ranchers, but I ended up eating those only out of obligation since I had them. I couldn’t tell if they helped in any way. So far, in my experiment of one, energy and electrolyte supplements haven’t made a noticeable difference nor have they been worth the effort. Maybe it’s because I am moving so slow? But I am open to being proved wrong about the subject, I will keep reading the articles in running magazines. I need all the help I can get.

I do, however, enjoy wearing my new Garmin 405 GPS watch on long runs. It is great fun after the run charting my route and studying the data and printing a map. My actual distance from Friday was 20.86 – how would I have known that without my cool watch? I also carry a clip-on interval timer that I bought from Jeff Galloway so I can do my run-walks. It helps keep me on pace, on task, and I don’t have to look at my watch until the run is completely over.

There is a potential vulnerability with carrying a GPS watch, however. A few weeks ago during a 10-miler, about 8.5 miles in, as I was turning north under the overpass at Loop 250 to head home, I looked at my GPS watch and it was completely blank. The battery had died. I felt empty since I had been following that watch all morning. I felt erased, blank, and non-existent. Well, only briefly, then I ran on home.

The toughest part of my run is the first mile. My legs are stiff, my shins are sore, and none of me wants to move. But I’ve learned if I keep going all of those pains will fade and I will be OK. It is sort of like hiking the Guadalupe Peak trail; if you get past the first bunch of switchbacks it actually becomes fun.

The only time I was really tempted to quit and turn around and walk back home was about 8 miles into the run when I was passing First Baptist Church. I went inside to refill my Camelback, being careful not to disturb the Friday morning men’s prayer meeting, and it took all my powers of persuasion to convince myself to keep going. But after I turned west toward the TXU hike-and-bike trail, I felt better. After that, I just kept going. I didn’t hurry or push the pace. My goal for the long run was to keep moving on my feet and not worry about pace or time.

At the 7-11 at Thomason and Loop 250 I bought a Gatorade G2, drank some and poured most of it into my Camelback to mix with my remaining water. It was a nice treat. I had $20 with me with the intention of doing exactly that, which means I drank from my Camelback more liberally than usual knowing I would refill it. Unlike previous long runs I never worried about running dry.

Afterwards, after a shower and after lying on the floor of my closet to recover, I enjoyed my traditional post-run vanilla milkshake. What a great reward. I savored it down to the last slurp because I’d earned it.

My friend and fellow marathon-runner, Chad, said that the secret doesn’t seem to be the training pace but rather how soon you can recover. I was pleased after this long run. By Monday, three days later, I was able to run 5 miles and I felt fine. That was encouraging.

My bum left knee felt fine and my right foot with goofy toes was fine and never bothered me at all. I haven’t had any problems with blisters on my toes since I started wearing Injinji socks. I may lose a toenail or two, but I am used to that.

So you may be wondering why I bother to write all this stuff down? I do it partly because running is the root of my writing. The first pieces I wrote as an adult were for a running club newsletter.

But I also write it down so you can join me on this journey. I am trying to live up to Habakkuk 2:2, Then the Lord said to me, “Write my answer plainly on tablets, so that a runner can carry the correct message to others.” I hope you have stories of your own, and I hope you’ll share them with me.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal Entry 081910: Riding together

So I spent a lot of time with my brother last weekend. Carroll lives in Buda, Texas, and we don’t see each other often enough. We talk on the phone once or twice a week, thanks to Carroll’s social nature. I tend to forget we even have telephones until they ring.

Friday, Carroll drove six hours from Buda to Midland, with his bike, picked me up along with my bike, and we both traveled another one-and-a-half hours to Hobbs to join our Dad. We got there just in time for Carroll to tune up Dad’s bike and to eat tuna fish sandwiches with Mom. On Saturday morning the three of us rode together in the 2010 Roll For The Cure 25K race.

As for our team, our combined ages were 178.22 (42.10, 54.15, 81.97), but if they had an award for oldest team we didn’t know about it. My legs were the strongest because I’ve been running on them for so long, but I only started riding distances again this summer after a 15-year layoff. I am still a little unsteady on wheels.

Carroll is the best bike hander. He has been riding since his BMX days back in elementary school. He also loves and follows the sport of cycling better than the rest of us, by a factor 10 or 20.

But of the three of us, Dad had the most miles on his bike and the most time in the saddle, of all three of us. He rides almost every day, and he regularly goes out ten miles or more.

Carroll and I almost ended up racing to the finish line but it didn’t seem prudent to risk crashing in front of all of Dad’s friends. Carroll would’ve won any last-minute sprint, but I might’ve taken him had we started to race a mile back. Dad didn’t seem very interested in racing to the finish line, though, so he wasn’t part of the position jockeying. I guess he has outgrown the need to finish first.

My Dad is happy any time Carroll and I do something together. We had nothing in common during the early years - I was 12-years-old when Carroll was born and I started college the year he started first grade. I grew up with 60s rock-and-roll, Richard Nixon, the Viet Nam War, and wore bell-bottomed Levi’s. Carroll grew up with 80s rock inspired by MTV, Ronald Reagan, and wore zippered parachute pants and Vans. We both played in our high school pep band, called Taskervitch (named after Hobbs High School’s famous basketball coach), in our respective eras.

Through the years the only thing we had in common was music. I played trombone and loved music, Carroll played drums and loved music. I have always been a utility player, able to handle my parts but never a soloist. Carroll has always been a percussion prodigy, and he is the finest drummer I’ve ever played with. I’ve been playing trombone as a sideline since I was in Junior High, and Carroll has been earning money playing drums since he was a teenager.

We really found each other as friends in our adult years while raising families and trying out various careers. Carroll works at Performance Bikes in Austin and he has sucked us all into his cycling world. He used to pitch bike ideas at me whenever I complained of sore knees. He bought a bike for my Dad a few years ago, and helped me pick out a bike a few months ago when I decided I should ride more often with Kevin. Dad and I both ride Fuji hybrid bikes.

I have made a few rides with Kevin, from home to Burger King and back; but when I put in a couple of 16-mile training rides to get ready for the 25K race, I rekindled my enjoyment of riding longer distances. I can imagine a day in the not-too-distant future when I’ll need a road bike built to handle more speed and mileage.

But the weekend was about riding with Dad; three amigos riding together for the first time ever. It was a great day. No one crashed, no one flatted, we finished together under our own power, we contributed a little bit of money to the American Cancer Society, and we found another way to enjoy each other as men. It was very good.

In fact, we have never been a demonstrative family. We love each other, we just don’t say much about it. It isn’t hard or awkward for me to say, “I love you, Dad,” and I doubt it is hard for Carroll, either. We just don’t get around to it.  Growing up I don’t remember a lot of hugging, even among grandparents and aunts and uncles. We hug more nowadays, which is the influence of daughters-in-law.

So riding 25K together was never about exercise or accomplishment or fund raising. It was saying, “I love you, you are worth the trouble.” I hope we have many more rides ahead of us.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal Entry 081210: CornFest 2010

Saturday night was our CornFest #4. We had about 60 people (counting babies) in our house in Midland to eat fresh sweet corn. It’s become an important tradition for our family and for many of our friends. The freshly-picked corn is wonderful, and watching a room full of people gnawing away on bright yellow ears is a fun spectacle.

But there is more.

We do this, in part, to honor to Cyndi’s family who grew this corn on their farms in northeast New Mexico, and show them we value their lives. It is also homage to Cyndi’s Grandfather, Forrest Atchley, who passed away in 1999, who was a larger-than-life patriarch in every sense of the word. Even as we are preparing corn at our house in Midland I still picture Forrest standing proudly beside his pick-up, the bed filled with fresh corn, his heart full and face grinning as dozens of family and neighbors gather around to shuck the husks from the ears, cook the corn in a giant black cast-iron pot, and serve it to everyone.

But the most important reason we do this is for the relationships. I doubt we’d go to this much effort just for food, but feeding relationships is a different matter.

Each year shucking the corn is a big part of our tradition. We don’t do any of it ahead of time, but save it all for our guests. This year I loaded up the ears in my gray yard cart and hauled it around to our side yard under the porch. As guests arrived at our house they were invited to shuck a few ears … not, as many suspected, to earn their dinner, but rather to share in the experience. For many this is their first time to handle corn in this way, and we didn’t want anyone to miss the opportunity. At first the shucking operation was random and chaotic, but eventually my organizational-wizard friends, Paul and Joe, had it moving like a rehearsed assembly line.

We also cooked hamburgers. When I say “we,” I mean that Cyndi spent the afternoon grinding wheat and baking fresh buns for the hamburgers, and my friend Mark stood next to the hot grill and cooked all the hamburger patties and hotdogs, while I walked around with a full heart and big grin in true patriarchal fashion. I guess I learned a lot as Forrest’s grandson-in-law.

We had a lot more young families this year, which means we had a lot of babies and young children. In fact, they set up baby camp in our hallway, stacking diaper bags and blankets along the south wall. It was fun to see the kids running around playing with each other, and then later, seeing them with corn kernels pasted to their noses and cheeks.

We also had a lot of grandparent-aged families, which of course make up our own peer group, friends we’ve grown up with and known since we were all having babies of our own.

It occurred to me later that I should have made arrangements for the older crowd to hold the babies and give the younger moms and dads a break. It probably would’ve made both groups happy.

The next morning at church Paul said, “You and Cyndi do way too much work for all the rest of us.” (It was an interesting comment from the hardest working man I know, who is famous for giving his time and efforts to other people.) It reminded me of a conversation from the movie Jeremiah Johnson …

Bear Claw: “You’ve come far, Pilgrim.”

Jeremiah Johnson: “Feels like far.”

Bear Claw: “Were it worth the trouble?”

Jeremiah Johnson: “What trouble?”

Sometimes we go a long way to make and keep relationships, but it doesn’t seem that much trouble. It doesn’t feel that far.

I don’t know if having a houseful of people over to eat corn is a lot of trouble, but I know it isn’t too much. Our friends are the weight and glory of our lives, and the only way to sustain and grow relationships is to feed them. We would be so much poorer if they didn’t come over often. We are surrounded by families, young and old, who love us and love God, and they are one of the biggest means of grace for us. How would we know God apart from the relationships he has given us?

Ode to Sweet Corn, by Garrison Keillor

As we travel along on our earthly path
Through this beautiful world God has made
Tramping along at a stately pace
Like elephants on parade.
We discover the pleasure of grass and sun
And music and light and talk
And the joy when a day of hard work is done
And you've cleared five acres of rocks.
The joy as you climb in your bed at night
The joy of the brand-new morn
But of all these pleasures the greatest delight
Is a supper of fresh sweet corn.

O that fresh sweet corn that the Lord sent down
So we know how heaven will be,
No grief, no tears, just the young golden ears
Plenty for you and for me.
Though the road be hard and deep is the night
And the future we cannot see
Take my hand, dear Lord, and I'll be all right
If you'll save a few ears for me.

Photos from CornFest 2010: http://www.flickr.com/photos/berrysimpson/sets/72157624684712432/

Photos from the original CornFest, at the Tramperous Ranch, in Union County, New Mexico: http://www.flickr.com/photos/berrysimpson/sets/72157624684712432/

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 0080510: Renewing

I recently enjoyed a big buttered sweet roll with coffee at the Frontier Restaurant in Albuquerque, while Cyndi and Tanya attended an early yoga class. When I was in high school we came to the University of New Mexico for All State Music, and it was part of the ritual to eat breakfast at the Frontier. I hadn’t been there since 1974, and I wouldn’t have thought of going there this time except Cyndi reminded me. I came to renew a memory and reset an experience. The sweet role and coffee were good but the renewal was better.

Have you done something like that recently? Have you returned to an old haunt or repeated a previous experience simply to reinforce your memory?

The first time I remember doing something like that intentionally was going to Mesquite’s BBQ in Lubbock in a blinding rainstorm one afternoon in 1994. I was on my way back to Midland from a business trip to Vernon, Texas.

The memory I was after happened when Cyndi and I were first married and she was still attending Texas Tech in Lubbock we met at Mesquite’s for lunch one blustery winter day. It was one of our best dates ever. Cyndi was especially attractive in her soft sweater and I was so hot for her I couldn’t sit still. I go back to Mesquite’s every chance I get to relive that moment.

Last week I went to Dallas with Cyndi. She was attending a church media conference called Echo at Watermark Community Church, and I did what I usually do – take a backpack full of books and my journal, and go underground for a couple of days. I also ran one lap around White Rock Lake Thursday morning and it was great.

Well, in fact it got hot and humid and it was really brutal and I got dehydrated and I was lucky to make it all the way around. But besides that, it was great. White Rock Lake is one of our favorite places to run and I am disappointed  if we are in the area and don’t have time to make it.

Unfortunately I was too worn out after running to go to our favorite La Madeleine Restaurant afterward and reconnect another great memory. It’s mostly a cold weather memory anyway.

One winter Saturday Cyndi and I ran the Lake and then warmed up over coffee and tea and buttered bread with jelly near the big fireplace at La Madeleine at Preston and Forest. This time, it would’ve been hard to imagine Cyndi’s silhouette against the fireplace after a 90*F run, so I didn’t go. But running the Lake was great; more about renewal than fitness, and I was glad for the opportunity.

And this past weekend I took my 7-year-old nephew, Kevin, on a two-night camping trip at the Ft. Davis State Park. We joined Corey and his son Carter. I had two objectives for the weekend: (1) do manly stuff with Kevin, like sleeping in a tent when there are bugs inside, eating hot dogs when they have dirt and ashes on them, hiking without complaining, using the bushes, and playing in the fire; and (2) repeat some of the experiences I enjoyed with my dad when we used to go to Ft. Davis, like touring the fort and climbing the rocks alongside the highway. We did all of those and Kevin had a good time. He came home with cuts and scrapes to show off to all the other men and to draw sympathy from the women. It was a successful weekend with Kevin, but it was also great for renewing my memories.

I’m not sure why I am telling these stories about memory renewal; it isn’t a nostalgia grab, or merely reliving the good old days. I think this is connected to one of my favorite verses that I recently rediscovered in my Daily Bible, Jeremiah 6:16, “Stand at the crossroads and look; and ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it.”

Refreshing old memories has less to do with sentiment and more to do with asking the questions again – which is the good way? How can I walk in it?

P.S. Much to my surprise, the White Rock run did me some good. My legs and knees had been stiff and sore the entire month of July, but after 9 miles around White Rock Lake, they felt much better. Who would’ve expected that? Memories aren’t the only things that can be renewed. It works for knees, too.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal Entry 072910: Can't be done?

While my tendency to try new things and experiment is a part of my personality I am most proud of, a couple of weeks ago I might have carried it too far. I was lucky to walk away.

I could blame Seth Godin for it all since his writing challenges me to be brave and adventurous. His has become one of the most influential voices in my life these past months. He told a story about an ultra-lightweight backpacker: Wolf was carrying a super-small pack which weighed 14 pounds including food and water. When asked how he got his pack weight so low, he replied, “All you need to know it that it’s possible.” Godin says that somewhere in the world someone is doing something that you decided couldn’t be done, and they are calling your bluff.

I have been running once a week in my Vibram Five-Fingers shoes, which are actually gloves for the feet and not really shoes and have nothing to do with fingers. I’ve written a lot about that already. But barefoot running, or in my case, quasi-barefoot running, has intrigued me, and I have continued to read internet accounts of people who run truly barefoot –skin on the ground - on a regular basis. There is a back-to-earth hippie element to it that does not attract me in the least, but there is also a foot-strengthening and mid-foot strike element that has real value. I have weak and tender feet and I have used that as an excuse not to try real barefooting, but those stories I read – they keep calling my bluff.

So one Tuesday I decided to finish my regular three-mile Vibram run by doing a few laps on the track in my naked bare feet. It is a modern rubberized soft-surface track, smooth and flat, so it seemed the perfect place to take the next step. I ran to the track, pulled off my Vibrams, and the first thing I noticed was the surface of the track was scorching hot. I couldn’t believe how hot it was. I had expected it to be much cooler than the concrete sidewalk or asphalt street. I guess I thought it would be more like that surface around swimming pools that never really gets hot even in the middle of a sunny day.

I was wrong. It was so hot I knew I couldn’t stand still and get used to it like you do when the bath water is too hot. This was hot enough to do serious damage to my feet. So I hopped across the track to the football turf assuming green grass – even artificial turf – would be cooler.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. The turf was just as hot as the grass. I couldn’t believe it. So I hopped a few yards across the turf to a large patch that was painted white, part of the sideline markings. Even thought it was white, it was just as hot.

I stood on that scorching turf and pondered my options. I knew I couldn’t stay where I was without burning my feet. I had to move back across the hot track and grab my Vibrams and get outside the gate to a cooler place. And I had to do it right away. Not only were my feet burning, but it was so hot I was holding my breath. I had to move immediately.

I bounced and hopped across to my shoes. It was so hot I didn’t even care whether anyone was watching me or how nerdy I looked. I grabbed my Vibrams and staggered out the gate to the real Bermuda grass and collapsed on the ground. I was glad to be off my feet.

Even though this bout of barefooting was a failure, I am certain I will try it again in the fall when the surfaces are cooler. I want to get stronger and I think this will help. I want my knees to last a few more decades and I think this will help with that, too.

And I suppose I should’ve known better about the hot track. It is Texas in July, after all. And the air temperature that day was over 90*F. I am a man of hope, but in this case hope was not enough.

As I am typing, two weeks later, my feet feel much better. All the tenderness has healed. I have run a couple of times in my Vibrams, enough to know I did no lasting damage dancing across the hot track. I will be back; the experiment continues.

So I ask, what are you trying that’s new? What are you working on that can’t be done? Let me know … I’d like to hear your story.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal Entry 072210: Being one of us

Maintaining family ties can be a lot of trouble. We might have to drive eight hours across the central New Mexico wilderness just to spend an afternoon with family who flew across the country to spend the same afternoon with us. We might spend hard-earned money on trivial things like matching T-shirts because we want to be one-of-us.

We do it because we love each other, but more than that, we do it because we love the bigger idea of family. We want our kids to live in a world larger than our own small household. We want them to feel a part of the big family and know they are not alone in the world. Going to a lot of trouble to keep a big family together is important. And it is worth it.

We go to the trouble to be with each other because being one-of-us is more important than personal dislikes or old offenses or personality differences. We might have to temporarily suspend old grudges, overlook recent transgressions, and accept ongoing crazy behavior. Some of us introverted types have to set aside our discomfort and mingle with distant family we barely know. Some of the more extroverted types look forward to a bigger family stage.

July 17 is a big day for family in my life because the reading assignment from my Daily Bible comes from Isaiah 51: “Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness and who seek the Lord: Look to the rock from which you were cut and to the quarry from which you were hewn.”

I like this notion of “the rock from which you were cut.” Isaiah went on to point out Abraham and Sarah, so we know he was referring to people, ancestors, predecessors, parents and grandparents, when he wrote about “the rock.” He reminded those of us who seek the Lord to draw strength from our family.

A few years ago when I helped my grandmother write her autobiography and family history, I was reminded how many Baptist preachers and deacons and church officers and women’s leaders are in my tribe. There is a rich vein of grace and strength that runs through my DNA, and I feel the blessing that comes with that. It is my provenance. I am part of a big story that extends for generations. Isaiah 51 also reminds me that I am part of the quarry and it is my duty and obligation to be faithful and strong for those coming after me.

And when I am with my inlaws I recognize the deep quarry from which my wife Cyndi came. I can see the veins of strength and creativity and adventure and we-can-do-that-ourselves running through her family, the very same characteristics that caused me to fall in love with her over 30 years ago.

One thing about quarries - they are seldom from homogeneous rock. There are always variations and fractures. Blocks of stone cut from the same quarry are never absolutely identical. They are all a little different.

And so it is with a family quarry. We are not a homogeneous band. We may be alike, but we are also different, with many variations and shades and fractures. And we unwittingly pass along some variations or impurities we wish would remain hidden, and we propagate fractures we wish would heal.

Whenever any of us have a role as leader or teacher we have an obligation to those in our care, in our circle of influence. But most of those relationships are voluntary, so the pressure is less. They can walk away. Family is different. Babies are stuck with the family they fall into. It is up to us to rise to the occasion, to be solid rocks.

And there is more, from Isaiah 58: “Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.”

Simply being a strong building stone hewn from a deep quarry isn’t the whole assignment for a family man. We are also rebuilders and restorers. We have a duty and obligation to understand the age-old foundations of faith and trust and acceptance and forgiveness and grace, and raise them up. As one-of-us it is our responsibility to be a Repairer of Broken Walls.

As it turns out, I don’t mind the trouble of family maintenance. In fact, I like it. I want to be part of a big and deep quarry. I want to live my life in a world that is bigger than my own opinions. I want to be one of us.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” www.runningwithgodonline.com

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org