Monday, January 3, 2011


I am a streak runner, which does not mean exactly the same thing that it used to mean back in the 70s.

For 11 years now, no matter what, I have not missed a single day of running, despite weather, earthquakes, broken bones, and travel to other continents.

I've just come back from a five-mile run in the hills. We were the only people out after last night's heavy snowfall, and running in knee-deep snow is kind of like trying to swim in tuna salad. So, needless to say, it wasn't exactly record pace.

But it was kind of interesting.

This is the way up my usual trail.

The hills are made especially steep because of the snow, and the fact that we sometimes stepped in waist-deep holes.

Naturally, I took along a Sherpa guide. Unfortunately, she refused to carry anything for me.

This is my little town on the lake. About five minutes after this picture, you couldn't see anything because of the snow.

The town and lake behind me.

The Sherpa guide on one of the last ascents.

And finally, I summit. This is the top of the trail on my usual five-mile loop. In summers, on the hottest days, it sometimes hits 100 degrees. Not today, though.