Moving to Youtube

Not much blogging going on around here lately.  It is not from lack of desire.  I can assure you there is no blogging burnout here.  I love to write, to discuss, to share ideas.

I just lack the time.

I have three major hobbies that take up the bulk of my free time.  Two of them involve spending long periods of time outdoors.  I am not even going to mention that time taken up from daily obligations of career, chores and family life.  All of this is just hobbies and pastimes:

Outdoors.  Hiking and camping up in the mountains with Rosemary is something I live for, but it will swallow up an entire weekend.  I have also pushed my trail running into another level.  I ran over 300 kilometers just in the month of May, mostly on the desert trails around Franklin Mountain State Park.  That kind of running is a real challenge that keeps me active and motivated, but averaging 10 kilometers a day pounding the trails eats up an enormous amount of time.  The New York Times recently had an article (HERE) about ultra-marathons and trail running, and put me in the running category of radical fringe.  Ha!  I love it.

Reading. I consider reading to be an engagement of ideas with the author.  I will take the time out to read a book of ideas, and to form opinions of my own based on that book.  Time is the issue.  Listening to audiobooks when I run is one option, but I never do that.  I am pretty 'old school' when it comes to my hobbies.  My occupation demands that I sit in a cubicle and stare at a screen most of the day - and I feel the need to unplug from the technology when I can.  When I run, I only listen to my breathing and my footfalls.  I also listen out for the rattlesnakes who are so good at hiding in the rocks and shadows in the trail ahead of me.  I have tried audiobooks, but it is impossible for me to concentrate on those things.  I like a physical, bound book, with clipboard, highlighter and notepad in hand.  I know.  I am a dinosaur.

Writing.  If I am in an exchange of ideas with the author, then I must have an outlet.  That is why I find enjoyment in typing book reviews and book discussions.  Even if the author is long dead, I need to express my own opinions and thoughts that were provoked from that author, and since it is so difficult to bring the topics I am interested in to people I know, even Rosemary, writing and blogging about them is a good outlet for me.  But after spending time with Rosemary, a few hours out on the running trail, and squeezing a few paragraphs of a book into whatever time is left leaves next to no time for writing and makes for one frustrated blogger.

I have to be realistic.  As much as I want to write, I have next to no time for it.  My solution?  Audio.  I will not write.  I will talk.  I have had a Youtube channel for a few years, and I have used it in spurts.  I have used it for book discussions in the past, but since I refuse to show my face I am not especially suited for video.  Rosemary suggested that I do podcasts, and that may be an option if I can ever figure out how the heck to produce those things.  I have produced audiobooks in the past, but editing those things is a real chore.  For now I am just keeping it simple.  I do not edit - neither the audio or the video.  I just do not have the patience.  I turn on the camera, the microphone, book in hand with a few notes, and talk about the book in a single take.  I try to keep the videos about 10 minutes in length.  The production quality is non-existent.  I am only in it for the talk.

I want to continue my extended review of Robert Price's book, The Christ Myth Theory and its Problems, but since I started that thing almost a year ago (!!!), I am putting it to the side and beginning a new project.  I have begun reviewing  a work of Christian apologetics called The Heresy of Orthodoxy, by Andreas J. Köstenberger, Michael J. Kruger.  I just began last night and have already recorded the first three installments.  I prefer writing, but talking is so much faster!!  Here is the first installment.  Let me know what you think:

If you want, you can check out the most boring channel on Youtube HERE.

Rattler for Ruth

Ruth does not like snakes.  I have been running and hiking in the desert for my entire life, and I have seen more rattlesnakes than I can remember.  A friend of mine and I just returned from an 8 mile desert run in Franklin Mountains State Park here in El Paso.  He wanted me to bring a camera so he could show his wife the kind of rough terrain we run on.  As luck would have it I saw a couple of critters along the route.  I immediately thought of Ruth and fired off a couple of shots:

Here is a horned lizard that I almost missed.  Or as Yosemite Sam would call them, a Great Horny Toad!  It does look a bit like a toad, but it is really a lizard.  My friend ran right past this pudgy little fellow, and I would have missed him had he not tried to scurry out of my way on the path, and his movement gave him away.  Their natural camouflage is remarkable!  They blend in with the surrounding rocks, sand and early morning shadows.  Do not worry Ruth, they are harmless.

When I run in the desert I never, and I mean never, take my eyes off the trail ahead.  I have to watch out for hazards like rocks and other things to trip over - but I also have to watch out for critters like the one above.  Do you see him?  I did.  My friend was running behind me.  I stopped to give the rattler a wide berth and held my hand up to stop my friend who is not accustomed to look out for these guys.  They hide with their camouflage almost as well as that horned lizard!

I took a couple more photos.  He was alert.  His eyes were meeting mine, and his tongue was flicking in and out to taste my scent in the air.  I think if you zoom in on the photo, you can see his angry looking face.  I never threatened him, so he never coiled.  These rattlesnakes are extremely dangerous, and if I am ever bit out here in the desert ... well I don't want to think about that too much!  But the good thing is that they are non-aggressive.  So do not be afraid Ruth!  We can watch them from a distance and they will never threaten or chase or attack us.  Just keep out of striking distance, don't bother them, and they will leave you alone and even pose for a photo or two!

I do think these snakes, and all desert wildlife, are beautiful animals.  Most are harmless, and snakes do not scare me.  But the poisonous ones must be respected.  I have killed rattlesnakes when they decide they want to live in or near my house.  Yes, I have seen rattlesnakes in the house before.  That is scary!  When I was a boy our house was made of adobe mud-brick.  Rodents would borrow into the walls, and rattlers would eventually use those burrows to find their way into the house.  Yes, kill these dangerous animals when they are in our home!  But there is no reason to fear them in the desert.  We just have to respect them when we venture into their home.

I hope you enjoyed these photos from my desert run!

It's a miracle!

One of the downsides of turning 50 years old is the mysterious aches and pains in my body.  I am getting them more often.  I was out on my usual 11km desert run on Monday afternoon.  About midway through, there is a small hill that I have to struggle up.  Every time I hit the top, I touch a large rock that I use as a landmark, then lift my arms and give a victory yell.  Hey, it’s a tough run, and it’s my way of celebrating.

Monday, I ran up the troublesome hill, panted for air, lifted my arms and, before I gave my victory yell I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my left shoulder.  My victory yell was more of a surprised grunt.  I injured my arm by just lifting it?  You gotta be kidding me!  Most runners get injured in the knees and hips.  Not the shoulders!

The pain was too intense for me to get much sleep that night.  I went for another shorter run on Tuesday night, just because I am a creature of habit.  Big mistake.  That night, the pain went up the left side of my neck, down my left shoulder blade and all the way down to my left elbow.  Finding a comfortable sleeping position that night was impossible.

I hesitated going to the doctor because the pain was not severe enough to incapacitate me.  Besides, I knew what the doctor would say.  Just rest the arm, do not strain it, and here is something to ease the pain.  Rosemary convinced me to at least get it X-rayed to see if something was torn.  I went to a doctor that specialized in sports medicine.  I was right.  He told me, “Nothing is torn.  Just rest the arm, do not strain it, and here is some good stuff for the pain.”  Not a big deal.  The biggest hindrance for me is getting comfortable sleep.  The layoff from my usual exercise routine is difficult for me, but I was not able to run.  Running hurts.

Well, it did until this morning.  I woke up with the same nagging pain in my shoulder.  I took a hot shower.  Then, in an instant, the pain vanished.  It simply vanished as quickly and mysteriously as it appeared.  I rotated my arm and turned my shoulder around its full range of motion.  Amazing – the pain is gone!  Now 10 hours later, the pain has still not returned.  I plan on running again tomorrow if I remain free from pain.

Back when I was a believing Christian, how many times did I pray for relief from my headaches, sore backs and common colds?  How many times did I take aspirin, antihistamine and pain killers, and attribute any sign of the drug’s power to my all-mighty Great Physician?  How many times did I thank God for His miraculous power and healing touch?  I did these more times than I can remember.

If I were still a Christian, I know I would have prayed just as fervently for relief from my strained shoulder.  I would have taken any mild relief as assurance of answered prayer.  But a sudden cessation of all pain as I have experienced just this morning?  I would have believed that to have been a miracle.  No doubt about it.  I admit that I have no explanation for why my shoulder is suddenly pain free, just as I have no explanation for why it got hurt in the first place.  But to the Christian, no explanation is the same as a miraculous explanation.  There is no explanation for why this happened!  So Jesus is the only explanation!  Miracles do exist, and I can prove it!  One happened to me just this morning!  I will stand up in church and testify when the pastor asks for a Praise Report.

Now what do I think as a non-believer?  I have no idea, but I called my mom this morning for Mother’s Day, and I think she had the best answer.  “Sudden aches and pains that come and go?  Well, you are 50 years old now…”

Who needs miracles when you have mom?

Bataan 2014

I am an avid jogger and runner, but I typically do not enter local running events. One of the main reasons I run is to be alone in the desert. I test my body, I listen to my breathing; I am out there almost as a form of meditation. The crowds of organized road races take away from what I love about running, so I really have little interest in them.

 The Bataan Memorial Death March is the one exception that I make. First and foremost, it is not a race. It is a memorial march in remembrance of the real Bataan Death March, which was a forced march of Philippine and American soldiers in 1942. Thousands were killed in the forced march. The annual march is held in New Mexico, not just as memorial of the wartime event of 1942, but a memorial to any soldier who has fallen in any conflict. That is what I love about it. Most participants were active duty soldiers, or family members of soldiers, who had lost a person they loved in some overseas conflict. I would say that over half of this year’s 6300 participants marched with heavy backpacks. Many of these packs had placards pinned on the rear as memorials of somebody who had died in Bataan, or a more recent conflict. There were plenty of ‘wounded warriors’ who marched in the desert with prosthetic limbs and modified wheelchairs.

 The 25th annual Bataan Memorial Death March was held last Sunday up in White Sands Missile Range, New Mexico. I had trained very hard for this event for several months. I am familiar with running in the rocks and sand of desert terrain, but the marathon distance of 26 miles is a bit past my comfort zone. Since the Bataan is not technically a race, I was unconcerned about how fast I ran it. Recently, the event officials have decided to give the fastest finishers of each category some kind of prize. I am not in favor of this at all. In my mind, it ruins the spirit of the march. Almost nobody, including myself, is there to win a race. Before the event, I promised myself not to over-exert myself. I would stop at every break station, eat plenty of bananas and peanut brittle, take the time to change my socks if I needed to, and stop to take photos and chat with people. My only goal was just to be finished before the afternoon winds typically begin around 1PM. I ended up running most of the 26 miles, but took long breaks in between and even walked about 2 miles towards the end. It was challenging, emotional, and terrific. I have finally completed the Bataan Memorial Death March. With that under my belt, I am not sure I want to do it again next year. We will see.

 And with that, here are some photos:

 Rosemary brought her Philippine flag with her to early morning crowds before the event. It attracted every Philippine person who saw it, including one Philippine man we met who decided to march in period costume. All the Philippine people wanted to pose with Rosemary's flag! She must have made a dozen new friends!

This is the beginning of the march. There were 6300 participants this year. I am trying not to get trampled by the soldiers!

This is one of the original survivors of the 1942 Bataan Death March. There are not many of these old timers left. There were thirteen survivors in attendance, and I got to talk to two of them. This is at the starting gate, and the crowds were a bit hectic. Eventually, the survivors were driven out to some of the water stations where things were a little slower paced.

I could not believe the size of some of these backpacks the soldiers chose to march with. Some of them were even running with these huge things. Ack! My knees!

This guy lost his grandfather in the Bataan Death March in 1942. So many of these guys were walking memorials to a person they lost. Sometimes I asked them about the person they had pinned on their backpack or shirt. They were always willing to talk and share stories.

The camouflage kilts are all kinds of awesome!

This nut was playing loud rock music out of his parked car, dancing and banging on a cowbell. I don't get it.

After running 22 miles or so, we hit the infamous 'sand pit'. By this time, everybody is feeling stiff, and the sand can definitely make it worse. When you hit this, you must change your stride. Use it to your advantage, lift your knees a bit more, and use it to stretch out your calves with each step.

This poor lady just twisted her ankle on a steep downhill grade. I remember thinking, you know you are getting older when running downhill is tougher than running uphill!

The support for this event was outstanding. We were out in the desert, and away from any roads, but the route was constantly monitored by people on horses and ATVs. There were also 3 or 4 medic stations along the route. They did not want to leave anybody behind!

Only 3 miles to go! I was hurting by this point. My feet especially, were really starting to ache. They were swelling up for some reason, and running on swollen feet is definitely uncomfortable.

When I finished, I kissed Rosemary, and was near tears. Not pain. Tears of joy. 26 miles of jogging through the desert among all these walking memorials gave me a bit of time to reflect on myself. I am grateful for my wonderful life and all that I have and the people that I love.

 Next year? We will see...

Have you lost your mind?

I awoke this morning before the sunrise.  It was still dark in the house, and mindful not to wake Rosemary, I felt around for the clothes I had left out the night before.  I put on a ragged flannel shirt to protect me from the morning chill, and a wide athletic belt around my waist to carry a water bottle and a baggie full of peanut brittle.  I laced my favorite running shoes on, and left the house.  Still dark, I drove 15 miles north to the border of New Mexico where there is a stretch of road over a pass in the Franklin Mountains called Anthony Gap.  I parked my truck on the side of the road and looked ahead to where I intended to run.  A little less than 8 miles uphill and over the pass, then back down until the road meets with I-10.  The skies behind me in the east were slowly starting to brighten.  I figured the sun would be above the horizon in a half hour or so and warm me on my jog up.  I did not want to run on the shoulder of the road.  There was far too much traffic to make that a comfortable option.  Besides, I have always found jogging on the pavement to be boring and tedious.  There was a maintenance road of rock and dirt that ran parallel to the highway.  It was more of a trail really, since only the sturdiest 4-wheeler would be able to navigate through the numerous arroyos that were bridged by the main highway.  Even though it was rough and uneven, I figured I would run on that trail to avoid traffic and not allow the smooth pavement to make my run monotonous. 

I placed the bottle of water in my belt holster after taking a sip, and bit into a generous chunk of peanut brittle.  I looked at the trail ahead of me.  A few miles uphill before disappearing over the mountain pass.  My hands were freezing, and I could not wait for the sun to rise and warm me up.  I blew my nose, muttered to myself, “Have you lost your mind?” and headed uphill on the uneven, rock-strewn trail.

I started running almost 12 years ago, in July 2001.  Although I have always been an avid mountain and desert hiker, the extent of my athleticism ended there.  On the contrary, I did not feel that I was in very good health.  I had struggled more or less, mostly more, with cigarettes since Air Force Basic Training way back in 1982.  Cigarettes were part of Air Force culture.  Half my Basic Training squadron was composed of fresh-faced, innocent kids, first time out of mom’s house, and had never before touched tobacco.  While conducting drills or policing the grounds, our drill instructor set aside five minutes every hour or so for the smokers’ benefit.  “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em!”  Half the squadron, myself included, started smoking just so we could take a break from the drudgery.

By 2001, a stressful and sedentary study environment in grad school gave me a two pack per day habit.  I was not picky.  I smoked whatever JB’s Smoke Shop had on sale.  That usually meant something called Premium Basic, which I could get for $1.15 per pack.  A lit Premium Basic was the perfect companion during countless all-nighters spent buried in school work, and I puffed constantly while struggling with insanely difficult physics problems.  But my breathing was getting more labored, and my throat burned more and more often.  I knew I had to quit.  I had managed to quit for over four years back in the early 1990s, but had started up again soon after enrolling in University.  Since then, I could never completely stay off the cigarettes.  I managed a day or two numerous times before finally caving in to the lure of nicotine.  The first puff after two days deprived of cigarettes always made my head spin.

In July 2001, I was walking in the marshlands by the Rio Grande with my dog Comet.  For some reason, on this particular day, I felt full of caged energy.  It must have been the coffee.  I walked along a dirt road atop a dammed up arroyo, and for no good reason just started running.  I ran with soaked water shoes as fast as I could, with Comet happily following close behind.  I managed maybe 100 meters before I stopped and keeled over out of breath, wondering what had just come over me!  The next day my legs, especially my inner thighs, were quite sore.  I had awakened muscles I had not used probably since the Air Force.  I ran again though, this time a little further.  Just a little.  I was a runner for only one day, and I was already hooked.  I would trade in one habit for another.  My last cigarette was in October 2001, and I have been running ever since.

I continued to run almost exclusively on dirt trails.  This was easy for me since I lived in a rural area.  Every powerline that crossed the desert was sure to have a rugged maintenance road running with it.  The desert was full of sandy arroyos that made for difficult but satisfying running.  And of course, the Rio Grande had dirt roads running parallel on both banks for as far as anybody could possibly run.  I was soon running over 10 kilometers every day.  Running was the perfect escape after a long day filling my head with theorems and equations.  If the day was too busy, if my emotions were running amok, if personal dramas were overwhelming, I could easily renew myself with a run in the open air.  Running in the desert felt nearly like a primal instinct.  I felt unleashed from the world when running around in the desert with nothing between me and the harsh environment but the thin cloth of shorts and T-shirt.  I loved the rush of adrenalin after a long run along some cattle trail.  Running to the top of the Chupaderra Hills and looking down from when I came was almost like spiritual epiphany.  Every time I hit the trials, I felt young, unencumbered and free!

I still get occasional surges of breathless emotion, even after 12 years of running.  I sometimes run several miles into the desert, maybe on the top of a ridge, far above the desert floor.  I have left the mundane city far behind, and as I climb in elevation, listening to nothing but my own footfalls and labored breathing, I can feel the air cool, I can see the desert flora change, and the horizon widen below me.  When I reach the top, spent from the exertion of miles of uphill running, I can turn back to look at the seemingly endless expanse of desert that I ran through to get to this spot.  I can see the tangled maze of arroyos and notch canyons that carve through the mountain’s alluvial fans.  The wind may pick up, and I see that a monsoon cumulonimbus has suddenly formed over the horizon.  Rain is threatening, and I have a long way to run to get back to my parked truck.  But for this moment, this special place where few people tread, a place deep in the desert and far above civilization, for this moment this place is almost Holy.  To think that I reached this place with nothing but the power of my own two feet, I sometimes feel a need to be grateful.  There may be nobody to be grateful to, but running to places where I am surrounded by the vastness of the desert wilderness leave me feeling joyous, humbled, even awed at my total insignificance in the midst of the whole.  I still cannot help feeling grateful at my ability to run into this momentarily sacred place under my own power, before I run back downhill, out of the desert and back into the more familiar, trivial, mundane world.

Yes, I do occasionally feel these moments of epiphany.  Can you tell that I love to run?  

The only time I stopped running for any length of time was when I had to nurse an injury.  I stopped for three weeks when my left knee hurt.  I stopped even longer when my calf muscle was strained.  I stopped for a couple of months when I was forced to rest my painful hip.  Deprived of running, but compelled to continue exercise of some kind, I decided to ride a bicycle instead.  I could never get used to the bicycle.  I crashed every time I tried off-road riding in the desert.  I found cycling on the highway with the traffic to be nerve wracking when I was not bored stiff with the monotony and tedium.  I was too used to my slow humping over the desert rocks and brush, with eyes glued to the ground lest I step on a camouflaged rattlesnake.  But cycling was better than nothing.  I found that if I did not run, or at least strain my breathing and heart rate once every few days, I would become cranky.  I had too much pent up energy.  I needed to move!

Running is a low maintenance activity.  It requires no special equipment.  It can be done nearly anywhere and at any time.  Along with eating, sleeping and sex, it is as basic, primal and natural an activity as I can imagine.  There is something about the simplicity of it that I find aesthetically attractive.  There is almost an elegance and ease to running.  There are no rules to follow, and the form seems to come naturally.  Unlike most athletic events, the runner is unencumbered with gear.  All that is required is to get up and propel oneself forward.  I have learned to keep the intense desert sun off my bare skin.  My sleeveless, bare-skinned days are long over.  On sunny days I will run with plaid cowboy shirt with long sleeves to cover my arms.  If it is not too windy, I will jog with my wide brimmed cowboy hat to keep the sun off my face.  I am the only person I know who regularly jogs with a cowboy hat and shirt on.  You can’t say I am not fashion forward!

I recently started wearing my stopwatch again after years of going without.  I found that I suffered as a result of going without – I was running much slower than I imagined I was.  As I get older my comfortable pace gets slower and slower, and without my stopwatch I never realized just how slow I was going.  I have not challenged myself in a long time.  I entered a half marathon at a friend’s request two years ago, but I loped along at such a slow pace I never even noticed I had jogged over 13 miles.  Besides that event, I have not been in a competitive race since 2005.  I say competitive, when the truth is I have no chance of ever winning any race I enter.  I can barely even place in my age group.  For me, if I enter a race, I can only truly compete with people who are going at roughly the same slow pace as me.  At the first 10k race I ever entered, I was 1 kilometer from the finish line and I was simply pushing myself to pass the two people just ahead of me.  Just ahead of me to my left was a kid no older than 12.  Just ahead to my right was a man no younger than 70.  C’mon!  Surely I can go faster than an old man and a little boy!  Nope.  They both passed the finish line just ahead of me.  That is about the extent of my ‘competition’.

Since I started wearing my stopwatch again, my times have improved.  I even started keeping a log again, and I found myself running more to meet my weekly goals.  I still do not find most races intriguing enough to enter, but I will be making a single exception next Sunday.  Throwing all reason aside, I signed up to run in the Bataan Memorial Death March, held annually at White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico.  It is not officially a race, but a commemorative march to remember and honor the veterans who endured a forced march at the hands of the Japanese during WWII.  I considered joining a team and marching the entire route with a heavy pack on my back.  But I decided instead to run the entire route, which runs mostly on sandy desert trails with very little pavement.  That is my kind of race.  I am a little nervous about the distance.  It is marathon distance, just over 26 miles, and well beyond my comfort zone.  I have entered two marathons in the past, and both ended in terrible knee pain.  What makes me think this will be any different?  Who was it that said repeating an action and expecting a different outcome was the definition of insanity?  I cannot remember, so whoever said that must have been wrong.  Of course he was wrong.  Obviously.

So I have been logging extra miles in preparation for the Death March.  That is why I woke up before dawn this morning, to hump over the Anthony Gap.  The first 4 miles was pretty easy, even though they were all uphill.  Anything less than 10 kilometers is a routine distance for me.  Suddenly the trail disappeared in a tangle of creosote and cactus, and I was forced to run downhill to I-10 on the shoulder of the highway.  Monotonous pavement running, and all downhill!  The pounding on my knees began.  Then I could feel my thighs start to chaff.  What?  My thighs have never chaffed before!  My mind raced to think of what I could wear in the Death March to avoid painful chaffing.  Assuming I could survive this one.

After running just shy of 8 miles, I reached the on-ramp of I-10.  I was half way finished, and now I would have to turn and go back the way I came.  I stopped and gave my legs a good stretch.  They still felt fine, even though I knew they would be stiff as rods by the time I reached my parked truck.   I placed the bottle of water in my belt holster after taking a sip, and bit into a generous chunk of peanut brittle.  I looked at the road ahead of me.  A few miles uphill before disappearing over the mountain pass.  My hands were warm but slightly swollen, as they tended to get during a long run.  The sun was well above the horizon, which brought warm weather along with a seasonal stiff wind.  I would be running into the wind for the remaining 8 miles until I reached my truck.  The chaffing on my thighs was beginning to burn.  Great.  I blew my nose, muttered to myself, “Have you lost your mind?” and headed uphill on the smooth shoulder of the highway.

A morning run in the Franklin Mountains

Many of my blogging buddies, for some reason, also happen to be avid runners and joggers.  They have put up their own great ‘race reports’ and stories about their running addiction.  I started running about 12 years ago, just as a way to relieve stress from all my class assignments, and I have been addicted ever since.  We have a few organized races here in El Paso, and I have run a few 10k races and a couple of marathons, but with the exception of only one, I do not have an interest in entering any more of these races.  They are just not my thing. 

Several of the people I read regularly, like DaGoodS and DoOrDoNot have written about their experiences with jogging, and joining races like the exciting ‘Warrior Dash’.  Adventure races like the Warrior Dash looks like a chance to get muddy and have great fun, but so far there are next to no races like this in my part of the country.  The Zombie Races that I saw while visiting Maryland last year looked like a blast, but so far, nothing like that is happening in El Paso.  So, I am forced to sort of do my own thing.

Not that I am complaining too much.  I live in the southwestern desert of the U.S., and I try to do the bulk of my running in the desert and away from the pavement.  If there is a cow trail, a powerline road, an old mining road, or even a gutted arroyo near my house, I have probably run on it.  I have fallen in the mud, gotten caught in hail, surprised a few bobcats and coyotes, had my legs shredded by underestimating some cactus, and have had more near-misses with rattlesnakes than I can count.  I would never give it up, even with those nasty hazards.  Those slight risks are far outweighed by the thrill of it all.

I will run on the pavement if I have to.  I am sometimes forced to jog on the hotel treadmill if I am out on business travel.  But what I really love is the desert floor – the rocks, the cactus, the sand, the dry air. I really thrive on getting back to my desert source.  I love the desert.  I love hiking and exploring, but I especially love running in it.  I find no greater sense of freedom than when I am alone in the elements, listening to nothing but my own footfalls, my own labored breathing, and the occasional coyote yipping behind that creosote bush up ahead of me.

Since it does not look like I will be reporting from a Zombie Run or Warrior Dash any time soon, I thought I would take you on a guided tour of one of my typical runs in the desert.  So put on some shorts, shoes with sturdy tread, a wide-brimmed hat and a water bottle and let’s hit the trail!  Oh – don’t forget the camera!

Never try holding a camera in front of you when you run

Last weekend I decided to take my dog and run in Franklin Mountains State Park.  A little background:  The city of El Paso has a very unusual shape.  It was founded at the southern end of a pass in the Franklin Mountain range.  The Rio Grande runs through the pass, and takes a sharp turn from south to south-east – hence the city’s name ‘El Paso’.  Over time, the city grew and spread northward on either side of the Franklin Mountain range.  Now El Paso wraps around the mountains.  That whole mountainous area, in the middle of the city limits, is designated Franklin Mountain State Park.  I believe it is, by far, the largest urban park, or city park, in the entire country.  You can hike to the top of North Franklin Peak, about 3400 feet above downtown El Paso, and miles from the nearest house, and still be within city limits.  It is easy access to get outdoors and a very popular area for mountain biking and hiking.  Every picture in this blog article is within El Paso city limits, even though it may look like I am in the middle of nowhere.

We will start our run at Chuck Heinrick Park in northeast El Paso.  There is a retaining wall just beyond the parking area that separates us from the desert trails.  The wall is there to protect the residential area from flash flooding.  When water pours off the mountain during monsoon season, it has to go somewhere, and the floods are rare, but fierce.  The trails are constantly being eroded by flood waters.

Here is my running buddy.  Sunshine is about 4 years old, and full of energy.  This little fella is always ready for a desert run!

Here is a look at Franklin State Park from the parking lot.  Plenty of space to bike, hike, jog and explore.  That is one huge city park.  It is much, much larger than Central Park in New York City, but it does not get quite as many tourists.  I am not sure why. 

hmm.. there's some trails in there somewhere.

Our jog will be a loop through that desert, and our goal will be some abandoned tin mines somewhere way up on the side of that mountain.  First we will run parallel to the retaining wall for about a mile.  Then turn a sharp left and run towards the mountain through a gutted arroyo until we hit the tin mines.  Then on a well-worn jeep trail back to the parking lot.  I have never measured the length of the trail, but I will guess about 7 miles for the whole thing and an elevation gain of maybe 1000 feet or so.  Ready?  Let’s hit it!

Oh my aching knees!  It usually takes me a while to warm up during these runs.  The first mile or so is always the worst part of the run for me.  That is OK.  I am in no rush.  We can take it easy during the first part and shuffle along.

And these blasted arroyos!  They are everywhere blocking our path!  Those rare flash floods can be really fierce.  It is really tough when they cut through the trail like this.  I have to either find a way around them or climb through them.  My days of attempting to jump over them are long gone.

After a mile, we turn a sharp left and head straight toward the mountain through a gutted arroyo. 

The trail on this part of the run is really tough.  The trail is straight, but it is dredged out of an old arroyo, so there are loose, smooth rocks everywhere.  Running on this stuff is pretty treacherous.  You do not want to take your eyes off the trail, or you risk tripping and falling.  I have fallen on rocks like this, and it is not fun!

After a mile or two of some really rough running straight uphill through some nasty, loose rocks, we finally leave the arroyo.  Veer left.  The trail starts to smooth out a bit and makes the running a bit more enjoyable.

Look at all those bicycle tracks.  I don’t see too may bicycles out here today, but on weekends, especially in the mornings, this place is pretty popular.

Just because we left the loose rocks in the arroyo does not mean I cannot take my eye off the trail.  Whenever I run in the desert, I must constantly scan the trail ahead of me because there are plenty of creatures out here who do not care to be stepped on.  And they are not always easy to see.  Over the years, I have had plenty of close calls with these guys:

Don't tread on me

Do you see it?  They blend in so well with the ground, rocks and shadows that they are easy to miss.  Rattlesnakes are extremely dangerous, and if you get bit way out here more than a few miles away from the nearest help, you are going to be in a world of hurt.  Rosemary scolds me about not carrying my cellphone when I run out here, but I have never been in the habit of carrying gadgets with me when I run.  Just carrying this little camera with me during this run was a bit of a chore!  I admit, I am used to my desert jaunting, and I live with the risk.  Anway, as dangerous as rattlesnakes are, there is a bit of good news.  They are non-aggressive.  I have never had a rattlesnake chase me.  I have heard plenty of stories of snakes chasing people, and maybe some are true, but I have never witnessed it.  As long as I am outside of striking distance, I can watch them safely.  They will rattle and rattle and rattle and finally get bored and crawl off.  A simple rule of thumb is - if you don't bother them, they will not bother you.  Rattlesnakes basically just want to be left alone.  Don’t forget to keep your curious pets away too!  Come on Sunshine, let’s go!

We are getting closer to our goal.  Can you spot the tin mine on the side of the mountain?

After we run another mile or so, we are just below the tin mine.  I am certain you can see it now.  We just have that really steep bit of jeep trail left to muscle up. 

We have to take the steep trail to the left.  We have already run about 4 miles, and Sunshine does not look too thrilled with the idea of humping it up for the final stretch.  From the looks of the bicycle prints that obviously avoid that steep trail, nobody else was too thrilled about going up there either.

GAAG!!  This thing is steep, uneven and rocky.  Even Sunshine is lagging behind.  Screw the jogging.  I am walking up this final stretch.  I am not that crazy!

Don't try this at home

And finally, we are at the tin mine!  Abandoned mines are dangerous, and they are covered with metal grills to keep us meddlesome joggers out.  I went in there once on a guided tour.  Nothing too exciting.

A look back to the city far below us:

I need water!

Poor Sunshine looks pretty wiped out.  Fortunately I always carry a water bottle and a drinking pouch for the dogs during these long desert runs and we can take a break for a few minutes.  Don’t worry, it is all downhill from here. 

the next bit after we leave the tin mine is my favorite part of the run.  The trail runs parallel with the mountain.  I am out of those awful arroyos and the trail is smooth.  I can take in a bit of the scenery.  It is absolutely beautiful up here.  I love running in the high desert like this.  There is nothing blocking your view, and you can see forever!  I have hit my stride after running 4 miles, and I am running almost effortlessly.  I love this part of the run!  If only I did not have those tough 4 miles to run before this!

Then in front of me, from seemingly out of nowhere, the trail just disappears into another arroyo.  This one is on the side of the mountain, so it is long, deep and treacherous.  UGH!  This one is going to take some time climbing through.  Here is a shot of my feet balancing on a thin ledge on the opposite side of the arroyo.  I can handle arroyos, but this was a deep one!

Yikes!  Crossing that added about 15 minutes to our time.  Oh well, when running out here, we cannot expect to set any speed records!  But it is a straight shot down an old jeep trail for a few more miles back to the parking lot.  It is all downhill, so we can run very fast.  We blast down in half the time it took to run uphill to the tin mines.

Back in the parking lot, safety and civilization.  Thank goodness Burger King is just around the corner cause I need a Whopper.

Well, not much of a race report, but this is what a typical desert run is like for me, and I thought I would share it with you.  I love running in the desert.  I have run in many different environments, in the city streets, along mountain passes, but my favorite has always been the high desert.  It is thrilling, exhilarating, and I would not give it up for anything.  I hope you enjoyed the jogging tour of my desert home.  If you ever make it to El Paso, look me up and we can hit the trails!