(Note: This is from August 1, 2005.)

Trail running's mind games have always intrigued me. Not the mind games we play with ourselves as we try to run through the pain, but the mind games we play with other people as we lure them into our strange, dark world.

I had mentioned to Phil some time ago that I'd like to see the top of Maiden Peak someday. So late last week, Phil sends me a note that says something like "You mentioned Maiden Peak…" First mind game: Phil makes me think the evil plan he's concocting is really my idea.

Phil continues with something like this: "We'll probably run 12 miles or so. Couple of hours. We can throw in Fuji if we need more." Second mind game: Phil blatantly lies about the difficulty, distance, and time.

Knowing his victim so well, Phil enhances his web of deception wiht a strategic and highly effective enticement. "We'll probably be back by noon." I should have seen through this when he suggested we leave town at six.

Playing the con to the T, Phil hops in my truck with only a couple water bottles, a few gels, and a banana. I have a medium-size cooler and an athletic bag full of clothes and various hydration systems. These would not prove to be enough. Cleverly concealed on Phil's belt is an ultraviolet water purifier. This sophisticated mind game, using technology that other people don't know exists, allows the perp to appear much less prepared than he really is.

Riding along highway 58, Phil casually mentions that Thornley has run up and down Maiden Peak two or three times in a day for training. This mind game, using other people's outlandish behavior to justify your own, is too ridiculous to be truly effective, but Phil was using every trick in the book.

And then comes the technique that Phil has elevated to an art form. We get out of the truck and get our gear on, and Phil shuffles a super-slow warm-up to the trailhead. Once in the woods, he puts me in the lead and feigns difficulty keeping up. I keep him in sight until the final ascent and then wait ten minutes a the top while he bides his time, creating the illusion that he's struggling. As if.

But in the end, even a seasoned flimflam man like Phil can be overcome by clear blue skies, crystal-clear streams and lakes, breathtaking vistas, and too-good-to-be-true trails to run. He mysteriously found the energy to run a solid pace all the way down Leap of Faith, past Maiden Lake, along the Rosaries, and back to Gold Lake. Regaining his composure, he did walk the last few hundred yards of trail in a vain attempt to keep up the ruse that he hadn't known exactly what we were getting ourselves into. After 18(?) miles and four hours, I was toast. After all these years, I continue to stand in awe of Phil--not only as a trail runner but as a master of the con. To his credit, in a conciliatory gesture, he bought blizzards and fries at the Oakridge Dairy Queen.