Mr Trail Safety Speaks!

Get in, sit down and shut up. A long time back, many dog-years ago in 1997, we rolled out the the UltraWhining Checklist [Golden Showers Beta Version]. But...a whole new crop of contendahs have sprung up, and institutional memory fades. The role of the Internet has radically shifted the Dialog Paradigms ®™. It's now YouR Website-R-U. So here, a somewhat updated Klassic for your delectation. And if you are easily offended, read thru to the bottom and get your money's worth. Ultra-Whining Checklist 3.0 I attribute my DNF(s) to the following reasons: (if there are additional causes, use the back of this form) Ia. Early Years My formative years were dramatically warped by the following: 1) I was dropped on my head as a child. 2) My past life as Cleopatra was miserable. 3) Demons were a regular part of home life. 4) I was allergic to beets. 5) I was tragically misunderstood. 6) My invisible playmates always abandoned me. Good. Now we are getting somewhere.

Runners, Fellow Listers, thank you, thank you! You are all so wonderful, I don't where to start...or stop! [insert craven shit-eating grin here] First, I want to thank Gawd®™. Nothing Compares 2-U. You are the Race Director of Life, in the Biggest Ultra Of Them All! I want to see what kind of buckles He hands out!!! Secondly...I want to thank my training partners. Yes, every one of you! You know who you are...don't pretend! I know the parts where I shared with you about my work and tax issues...it's a brand new day! My new kidney is doing well too...what with ebay and a billion Chinese, now there's a combo!!! Third, I'd like to thank all of the really "velocity-challenged" out there who made me look *really* good. I couldn't have done it without you. Also all of you who were busy hiding in the bushes because of the pre-race chili...you have my sympathies. I made up at least 10 places. Volunteers. I love you. Every one of you. Especially the ones that

Old spirits to the New Year. A legacy presentation from the Mr Trail Safety KunstSchriftArkiv. This originally appeared in The Journal of CryptoAethnology, Winter 1999.   Part 1 The snow lay in a crisp white blanket on the ground. The trees were shrouded in ice rime and crystals. One's breath hung in the air in silver wreaths. The outlines of the trees were like silhouettes cut by a happy child with way too much time on it's hands with a dull razor. It was so quiet you could hear a bird fart. And smell it too. But all this was far far away from our hirsute Forest Prince. Where he was living, the semi-tropical air wafted in through the glass louvers, bringing in the warm damp vapors of the great outdoors and carrying with it outside remembrance of his morning pot of coffee and chili. He stood in the kitchen, with his distinctively shaggy short squatty legs sticking out of a pair of oversize canvas shorts, his rotund gut spilling over the top of his "69" belt buckle he&

Peter: It's always good hearing from you! Seeing that we're all real busy these days, I'll make this short and to the point.  1] I stand by my observations.  2] Sharp-focus commentary is not "picking on you"; it's part of the "balls to wall" experience.  3] If I am living a dull and creativity-challenged life, let me know. I'll be at Highline 50 next week, Mile 44. [But, time's a wasting! Back to the main show...]  4] I don't dispute your reasons for pre-announcing your intentions. What was fascinating how you two did it. The terms "enabled" and "enabling" come to mind; along with "safari hunting with a brass-band".  5] Unsupported. Unsupported. Unsupported. Big noises about that. Now it's easy to say otherwise.  Whether or not Tweit, Hoff, LaCava or anybody else had support is beside the point. It was all about *you*, baby. Being unsupported was going to make the whole shebang real *special*. Further

I love this talk about John Muir Trail and "record fever". There's such a rancid desperate air about it. But it's Spring, and it's with us again.  Blake Wood did a masterful job. The account is low-key, insightful, accurate and bullshit free.  Bruce Hoff did his turn several years ago. Again, low-key, honest, funny and sobering.  Last year Buzzy & Peter treated us to a brass-band fanfare prior to the Great Unsupported JMT Record-Breaking Event. We were directed to the appropriate press flackery, which Was All True, of course.  The air was thick with attitude about it all, Cali trails being wimpy and all, and how Two Colorado Dewds were gonna show ever'body a thing or two about trail running. Unsupported. This was canon law.  The Mountain Gods stirred from their torpors. Pulverized mule turds set the tone, and the howling started there. Four days of no sleep and robotic humping thru what...Gawd's Epic Back Yard. They might as well have run along the si

When I awoke this Easter morn, I knew things were different. I came downstairs and found that my chocolate Jesus had his ears nibbled off. But I come not to dwell on the travails of the Prophet, but rather to expound brightly on an overly long short run I took on Saturday; destination--Baldy Beach. I departed Baldy Village as a man burdened only with the dynamic sense of the impossible. The snow was in vagrant patches, and remained so past the Alberto Salazar Rustic Showers. Climbing upwards into the clear blue sky, I was surrounded by warm and friendly chaparral. Eventually the trail disappeared beneath snow pack. My moment had arrived. I donned my spiffy 2-toned Redfeather S-25 snow shoes. I continued to climb, the pack was hard. Following the tracks of an unnamed local, I wound my way higher and higher. For some reason the air got thinner. I was sucking down Gatorade like there was no tomorrow. Had I been the Nazarene...don't get me started. Satan however is on call 24/7 with hi

This was originally dramatized on the Wanker Network, Autumn 1999.   Prologue du Bois   Our portly, avuncular, geezer-Brit sits in a large wing chair. His fingers are steepled and he contemplates, you, the audience with a smirk. It is presumed we are in his living room at the family estate, Wowzer Hall in Jamaica. " Tonight's narrative concerns the rhythmic intersection of privilege and vigour as our dynamic protagonist, a class of high-caste female graduate literature students, and a middle-aged naif all collide one summer afternoon in a college classroom. Let us begin our story with the Aulde Forest Prince. He is outside on the College Green, riding a lawn tractor. And thus we begin..." Whirring and cutting of the mower-blades released heady green aroma. The blue clouds of rich oily gasoline fumes blended together into a ritualistic summer perfume, dispersing into the early rising heat of the verdant summer morning. The lush and fertile campus of the Biddle-Barrows

The rescheduled SGM50k was run under perfect conditions this past Saturday. For those laboring under sleeting conditions elsewhere, now would be a good time to ignore the following paragraphs. RD Jim O'Brien has designed the San Gabriel Mtn 50k to take full advantage of the vertical delights of Mt Wilson. The course is largely absent of debilitating flat stretches, which can only lead the unwary into the snares and traps of complacency. How many flat loops can any sane person do? How much frozen Hoosier mud does anybody need in this short life? I'm certain that many people asked themselves these questions. Runners got off to a scenic start from the top of Mt Wilson. A scenic view of Catalina Island and the blue Pacific beckoned off to the south, but many had their focus on PowerBars, splits, Gu and future glory. Tom Nielsen hung back in the parking lot, by accident or design is not clear. Perhaps it was too crowded at the start. In any event, a full 90 seconds had elapsed befor