What I don't know is how to deal with the absence.  For 15 years running has been my identity;  a handful of numbers I can throw out to define the passion and dedication I've arranged my life around. Simple, but effective.  And always with hope for improvement.

Last night, I went to a rehearsal with some friends from my old choir that defined so much of me my senior year of high school (that memory laden year).  A new group of graduates of that choir is starting under our old, now retired, choir director.  It's a dream come true.  Think of Mr. Holland's Opus with all his graduates playing in the orchestra.  Walking through the hallways of yesterday as we approached the rehearsal room, I saw my old locker, the auditorium, site of so many concerts, blinked at shadows of old crushes as I walked past familiar classrooms, and even sniffed phantom smells of Otis Spunkmeyer cookies that used to be sold at lunchtime in the main hallway.  My life of college, then running in Los Angeles, Eugene, working for RunnerSpace, and all the places, races, and people I had seen since I ate those cookies raced across my mind.  I nearly choked on my own nastalgia. 

A girl walked up to a friend I was catching up with and introduced herself.  I knew her immediately.  She was the star diva soprano who didn't make it to the All-State Choir as a junior, when I, as a freshman boy soprano whose voice had still one year left before cracking into maturity, did.  I expected to see the same glimmer of hatred in her eyes that I saw 14 years ago when the audition results were announced.  But it never came.  Imagine my relief!  And by the time rehearsal was over, I had a roomful of 25 people encouraging me to move back to Portland to be a part of this resurrected choir.  Is that what my life looks like at 7:02pm tonight? 

I suppose it's appropriate that I watched "The Bucket List" today, a movie about the mortal conflict on whether a man has lived a meaningful life or not.  Endings begetting beginnings. And questions, endless questions.  Many do I have to face as I lay to rest the only lifestyle I've known since my schooling. 

I've decided to run the OTC All-Comers meets this July.  It would be great fun to use my fitness to try to get after some of those ancient PRs left over from high school (i.e., anybody up for a 3k?).  I can imagine going through some post-running depression, and I realized that's probably not a good place for me to be when it comes time to cover the U.S. National Championships! 

I think it's helpful for me to admit when I can't quite read the compass clearly.  My constant guide being my parent's instructions throughout my upbringing.  "Always do whatever it is that you enjoy doing."  I will enjoy tonight's race, and thanks to those friends of mine who notice a former 1:52 guy trying to get after it one last time!

For those of you who follow my running career . . . yeah right, for those of you who know me then, might know that my 2 years hiatus by way of achilles tendonitis came to a glorious halt this weekend when I spiked up and ran the mile at the Husky Invite.  Well, for me it was more like a less-than-glorious 1302 meters.  A lot of things went wrong. 

I don't know if I wimped out.  I don't know if I quit because I was running backwards and already trailing by 20 meters with 307 to go.  I don't know if I was sparing myself the indignation of the courtesy clap or even if I could have picked it back up if I closed my eyes and thought of England, but I do know two things.  I know that a lot of things went wrong and I know that Andy Wheating is one cool dude.

Decelerating from 1:47 (arguably faster, with his kick) pace, Andy ran straight into a high five with coach Vin Lananna.  That was cool.  And after discussing it for a moment, the guy turns and walks right over to me (waiting for the interview, what else?), and still out of breath says, "Hey Kev, I heard you dropped in the mile today.  What happened?  Are you ok?"

Now, forgetting that most elite athletes see me with a camera in one hand and turn to run the opposite direction, Andy could have gone straight into talking about his race, he could have jogged over to his adoring fans seeking autographs, he could have turned around and caught his 800 time!  But he didn't.  He stepped right up to the plate and smacked the "Don't talk to me about my @#$!ing race" look right off my forehead and proved to anyone listening that there are more people at a track meet than just the winners, and they matter too. That's pretty cool.

And I'm not the only one who thinks Andy is a cool dude.  Tevan Everett, Nick Symmonds, his teammates, or any one of his 1799 Facebook friends will tell you the same. 

To answer your question more completely, Andy, a lot of things went wrong.  December and the ice storms went wrong, my getting in spikes for the first time last Saturday went wrong, entering myself at my PR time, thinking I can happily sit on the back of a fast field for my first race back, not passing guys when I had the chance, fading off the back and dropping out, all of these things went wrong.  But hey, I'm not injured, I've got a fire lit under my ass, and I want to get out there and race again! 

So things go wrong, but it's better than them not going at all.  I'm glad to be racing again, and in three weeks, I'll be even happier to be finishing races again!  Thanks for being heads up Andy, you're a class act!

I got fired up last year, such that I asked Lauren Fleshman (ever the patient ear) why more women didn't run USAXC World Trials.  Note: to her credit, she had planned on running last year but was forced out when she got sick.  She told me that it has a lot to do with financial incentive and a little also to do with the American competition schedule.  Indeed, if a girl can win $100K in Chicago or even $250K in Dubai, then why on earth would she spend her time worrying about three thousand bucks she might win at the U.S. Cross Nationals? 

Alright, maybe USATF can't afford a hundred Gs for every member of the World team to make it "worth their while," but where would the money come from?  Nike?  Warren Buffet?  Some anonymous donor who REALLY loves cross country?  Maybe one of those bailed out bankers who used my tax dollars to go on a family vacation in these stressful times? 

With all due respect to Emily Brown, and my sincere congratulations go out to you on your win and all the World Team qualifiers, but I sure noticed a lot of missing faces.  Back in 2005, the US women took the bronze at the World XC Championships in France.  Lauren, Blake, Shalane, Shayne, Amy M., and Melissa B. earned the USA that distinction and it was a shining moment in, not just women's, but in USA distance running.  Not only are those names familiar to those of us that follow the sport, but they are recognizable with only their first names!  Here's my thing: they got bronze in '05, now it's '09, most of them are still around, and guess what, they're better.  Lauren, Blake, and Shalane have all enjoyed breakthroughs since then, and I hear even Shayne is getting back in the groove after starting a family.  

Also there are new (and arguably, more talented) names to add to the pool of still active World medallists.  I have a hard time believing that any of the top 6 ranked distance runners were at US Nationals this year.  In no specific order, I would love to see any combination of Shalane, Kara, Deena, Jen, Lauren, Yoder-Beg, Blake, or Slattery (if I missed someone, I think my point remains) make a go at another podium spot at World XCs.  Am I the only one?  What needs to happen to make that a reality? 

Now I'm just ranting.

I've been quietly going about my summer mileage building and am very much looking forward to the indoor season.  I've been training consistently with no interruptions for about two months now and my immediate goal is to get through the fall and winter with no breaks in the training. 

I hope my good fortune has found some of you as well.  Good luck to everyone who is competing this fall, I'll see you indoors!

by Todd Bosworth

The McKenzie River 50k Trail Run was held September 10, 2005 at Carmen Reservoir.

My friend and training partner Christian Beck has run many ultras and so I tried to follow his lead in preparation and training for this event. I felt ready.

I was trying to keep a positive frame of mind. Anxiety lurked in the shadows. Based on my training I knew I should be ready to run 50 kilometers but anything can happen. I could fall. It was raining, but was supposed to stop. What should I eat for dinner and breakfast? Have I tapered enough? Maybe the Bohemia Half Marathon last Saturday was too close. I've been sneezing and I have a hint of a sore throat. Is it the beginning of a cold?

Walking into Harbick's Country Store in McKenzie Bridge is like stepping into a time warp. The classic "General Store." They have generally everything. Hot food, cold food, dry goods, cleaning supplies, clothing, fishing and hunting supplies, tools etc. My specific goal was to find the right pair of gloves. I ran the McKenzie 50k Trail Run in 2002 and fell six times. I needed gloves that were light, breathable, but tough enough to protect the palms of my hands when I fell. Not if I fell, when I fell. It was inevitable. Strangely, it was never in the technical, rocky, winding, chiseled lava sections, it was usually after that when you take a deep breath and relax and start looking more than three feet down the trail, or taking a drink of water or messing with a GU pack. Catch a root or small rock and Wham! Get up, brush yourself off and start again. Each fall reminding you to pay attention and I managed to forget five more times.

Harbick's must have a hundred and fifty types of gloves to choose from. I settled on some stretch nylon gloves with rubber coated palms and fingers. The rubber was a dense light gray coating that I figured would do a great job of protecting my palms from rocks and gravel. My thoughtful and caring wife Shelly thought they might not breath enough so I cut the fingers off. Now they resembled biking gloves. Perfect.

It rained continuously Friday night and I revisited thoughts of running the race in a downpour. That would not be fun.

Shelly, my sons Weston, age four and Callahan, a year and a half and I spent the night in a leaky teepee behind the Log Cabin Inn. Seemed like a fine idea when we booked it a month ago when it was 90 degrees out.

I got up at 6:15 and it was raining lightly. I stepped in a puddle and my right sock got wet. I hitched a ride with Jim and Dave to the start.

Pre-race at the McKenzie Trail Run is like a reunion. Many in this unique and eclectic crowd only see each other at ultra races. Smiles and hand shakes created a very warm gathering on a cool, misty morning.

Phil Vaughn is the race director and he announced we had three minutes until the start. The crowd stepped behind the line and Phil started the race. It's about 50 degrees and not raining.

It was only then the anxiety subsided. I was finally running the race I'd spent so much mental and physical energy training for the last 5 months.

The race leaves Carmen Reservoir over the McKenzie and up the trail past Koosah and Sahalie Falls. It is so beautiful and surreal you want to stop and take it all in but I can't because I have a goal. A time to beat. That time is 4:37:40. Christian's PR at McKenzie is 4:37:41. What a coincidence...

The trail continues up river and across the highway and around Clear Lake. There's about a mile long out and back and we see the leaders coming towards us bombing down the trail. The four lead runners remind me of a fast moving train. The combination of speed and power is impressive. John Ticer, a 48 year old firefighter from Eugene went on to win the race for the second year in a row, setting a course record in 3:42:50. Simply unbelievable.

I hit my splits fairly close through the first two aid stations. I eat a brownie, take a couple sodium/electrolyte capsules every hour, try to drink a bottle of water between each aid station and I feel wonderful. My water bottle leaks if I squeeze it too hard so I have to carefully sip without applying too much pressure. It's a minor nuisance.

I'm running at a pace that feels effortless. Running shorter distances I'm always pushing to keep pace, checking my watch each mile. Up here you just run. You run at a pace you think you can maintain for more than four hours. I run really well through some of the most difficult and beautiful parts like the Blue Pool area but I can't take my eyes off the trail for a second. Every step is critical. No sight seeing today.

My only concern now is my wet socks. By mile seventeen I really want to change my socks and my crew, Shelly and the boys appear like angels right next to the trail and help me change. I'm back on the trail within minutes.

The minutes and hours melt together as I cruise along fern lined trails, moss covered rocks around tall firs and cedars and over log bridges. I arrive at the fifth and final aid station at mile 25.1 and I'm three minutes ahead of schedule. I feel awesome with six miles to go. In fact I see three other runners so I leave the water bottle at the aid station so I can run harder and I target them to try and pass. It doesn't seem to be working. They are slipping further away with each turn. Is it me fading or them getting stronger? It must be a combination of both. With three miles to go it's definitely me fading. I'm struggling. With a mile and half to go I need to really concentrate hard to keep running and try to ignore the pain in my tired legs.

I come around a corner and a young kid calls out my number and I see the finish line at the top of the hill.

The race is over and I'm done. The clock reads 4:37:56, 16 seconds off my goal and 18 minutes faster than 2002. I'm tired, teary, relieved and very hungry. My crew attends to my every wish. I need a chair to sit in and it appears. I drink two Pepsi's, eat some brownies, a banana, orange slices, cookies and I'm feeling better. I look down and realize my customized fingerless gloves are clean and dry. I can't help but smile. It's the perfect ending to an amazing and unforgettable race.

Christian PRs by thirteen minutes. He raises the bar by lowering his time just when I thought I was closing in on him. I think the leaky water bottle he loaned me was no accident.