Written by: John Bingham

Illustration: Neil Numberman

I regularly host seminars at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon expos across the country, and I’ve been on stage with some of the running community’s greatest athletes, such as Frank Shorter and Jim Ryun, and current greats, including Deena Kastor, Ryan Hall and Kara Goucher. They seemed to have approached their running careers in similar ways. They all posses an obvious drive and passion, and they each have a fierce competitive streak that they call on when they need it.

In June at the San Diego Rock ‘n’ Roll expo, I interviewed 1983 New York City Marathon winner Rod Dixon with 2009 New York City Marathon winner Meb Keflezighi. Dixon outkicked Geoff Smith in the final 200 meters for his win. For Keflezighi, after winning the silver medal in the 2004 Olympic Marathon but not making the team in 2008, the 2009 New York victory was one of redemption.

My question to the two was this: How would each of you have defeated the other if you had competed against each other while in your prime?

Dixon was a world-class runner at nearly every distance and won the bronze medal in the 1,500 meters in the 1972 Olympics. He said his strategy would be to try to control Keflezighi from the very start of the race. If he could dictate the tempo of the competition, he could control the outcome.

Keflezighi’s strategy would be to run his own race. Knowing that he had the better 10K speed, Keflezighi said that at Mile 20 he would “punish” Dixon by running harder and faster than he had up to that point.

It was amazing insight into the competitive minds of two great champions. They were each aware of their own strengths and the strengths of the other and they compared those strengths to devise a strategy for victory.

That, it seems to me, is what made these two runners great champions. For them, and others like them, it isn’t just about the times that they ran, it’s about the quality of the competition. The joy was in the battle with their competitors. The question they ask is not whether they can finish in some predicted time, but whether they can, on that day, be the best.

Too many of us focus only on our time and pace because we think, somehow, that the time we run will define the experience. We think that we can measure our effort with a stopwatch.

However, champions such as Dixon and Keflezighi know that the only real measure of success is the feeling you get from knowing you did your best.

This column first appeared in the November issue of Competitor Magazine.

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About The Author:

John Bingham, aka The Penguin, will share his running tales and experiences every month. Have a story of your own to share or a topic you’d like The Penguin to consider? E-mail him at thepenguin@johnbingham.com.

Written by: John Bingham

Melissa Etheridge sings, “Just outside my window I hear the late September dogs. I understand their warning, I understand their song.” She’s probably talking about a lost love, or a good love gone badly, or a bad love gone worse.

I’ve run 45 marathons, many of them in October. So for me, the late September dogs signify the fears that arise every time I commit to run a marathon in October.

I have run the Chicago Marathon several times. I’ve run the Marine Corps Marathon more times than I can remember, (including in October 2001, when I experienced the raw emotions of running past the Pentagon just weeks after the 9/11 tragedy).

I’ve run the New York City marathon once—that’s in November, but the fear and the worries about that race started in September, too.

In spite of my fears, however, when I’ve begun a marathon training program, I’ve always been filled with hope even when training doesn’t always go my way. September was the month in which I would run my last long runs. Without exception, my longest training runs were my worst—my feet hurt because my shoes weren’t right, my body ached, I chafed in places I never had before, and I didn’t fuel well or hydrate correctly.

The late September dogs seemed to be warning me that I wasn’t ready, that what seemed like a good idea in May was, in fact, a huge mistake.

It would have been easy to give in to those fears. I could have come up with a credible sounding excuse for why I had changed my mind.

I never did that. Never once. Every marathon I committed to do, I did. I didn’t run them out of a sense of obligation to anyone else. I ran them because I told myself that I would.

Long distance training programs, half-marathon and full marathon, are every bit as much about getting your head and spirit ready as they are about getting your body ready. The truth is that nearly anyone, if they’re patient with themselves, can prepare their body to cover the distance of 13.1 or 26.2 miles.

What’s also true is that what interferes and undermines our training and race day performances are the voices in our heads and the insecurities in our spirits.

IN THAT SENSE, MAYBE WE AS RUNNERS ARE MORE LIKE MELISSA ETHERIDGE THAN WE THINK WE ARE. WHETHER IT’S OUR RUNNING, OR LOVES OR OUR LIVES, WE OFTEN HAVE TO IGNORE THE WARNINGS OUTSIDE OUR WINDOWS AND BELIEVE THAT NO MATTER WHAT HAS HAPPENED IN THE PAST, THE FUTURE IS FILLED WITH PROMISE.

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John Bingham, aka The Penguin, will share his running tales and experiences every month. Have a story of your own to share or a topic you’d like The Penguin to consider? E-mail him at thepenguin@johnbingham.com.

Written by: John Bingham

This column first appeared in the July issue of Competitor Magazine.

I tend to learn things the hard way. I was sick nearly every winter for 40 years before I learned to wear a hat in the cold. I crammed for exams a few too many times before I studied in advance. And I didn’t learn the benefits of living a healthy, active lifestyle until I had been rushed to the emergency room twice with severe chest pains. I didn’t learn that I couldn’t eat and drink all I wanted whenever I wanted until the circumference of my waist was equal to about half of my height. Like I said, I learn things the hard way.

This character flaw did not disappear because I decided that moving a little more and eating a little less was a more reasonable way to live. Nope. I decided that moving a lot more and eating a lot less was better for me, because I was special.

Sure, I read that you are supposed to start off easy and give your body plenty of time to recover. Yeah, I know, it’s important to take rest days. That might be fine for other new athletes, but not for me.

And yes, I knew that people said that if you reduce your calorie intake too dramatically your body actually thinks you’re starving to death and so it holds on to body fat. And yes, I knew that people said food is fuel and to be an athlete you have to balance your diet to match your effort.

OK, fine for everyone else, but not for me.

I figured if running a little was good, running a lot was better. If cutting a little on my food intake was good, then cutting off my food intake almost entirely was better. See where this is headed?

The body is such a fantastic piece of equipment that it will actually allow a person to be a complete idiot for a while. Mine did. I ran too far. I ran too fast. I ate too little. For a while, I lost weight and felt like I was getting in shape. But about three weeks into my new routine I noticed that I had pain in nearly every joint and that everyone and everything around me started to look like food. The stapler on my desk looked like a hot dog. My computer started to look like a microwave oven. I was hungry, tired and hurt.

Now, years later, I get paid to write and speak about living a healthy, active lifestyle. You would assume that I would have learned—the hard way—that I can’t let my enthusiasm get the better of me. And you’d be wrong.

Every time I embark on some new project, whether it’s training for a half or full marathon or, as I did on Jan. 1, committing to moving every day for 100 days, I make the same mistake. I go at the project full throttle. Wide open. Flaps up. Afterburners engaged.

I’m confessing all of this because I know that many of you are just like me. I talk to you at the events. I get your e-mails. I know that we, the adult-onset athletes, are most susceptible to being driven by our egos and not by our common sense.

So if you’re in the middle of your summer racing season, be careful. If you’re just getting started on your fall marathon training, be careful. Be patient. Be gentle. Be nice to yourself.

The lessons are out there to be learned. They can be learned through the expertise and experience of others. Or, they can be learned the hard way.

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John Bingham, aka The Penguin, will share his running tales and experiences every month. Have a story of your own to share or a topic you’d like The Penguin to consider? E-mail him at thepenguin@johnbingham.com.

“I’ve learned that the joy I felt so many years ago still burns in my spirit.”

Written by: John “The Penguin” Bingham

This column first appeared in the May issue of Competitor Magazine.

One spring, as I hobbled around, a colleague approached me and asked what was wrong. I told him I was just coming off my winter racing season and was in the best shape of my life. He looked at me with a combination of disbelief and disdain and said: “If you were in any better shape you wouldn’t be able to walk at all!”

That was how it went nearly every spring. Careful planning and cautious scheduling always gave way to over enthusiasm. I could not stand to see a “0” in my logbook. If I started to get faster, I’d double up on the speed work. If running for an hour started to feel easy, I’d run for two. No matter how hard I worked I always felt as if I could work a little harder.

This spring, it’s different. I spent nearly all of 2010 injured. I displaced my sacroiliac joint in early January. But as I recovered from that, I began to have foot pain. Months later it was diagnosed as cuboid subluxation syndrome and I began the prescribed rehabilitation and recovery.

Neither of these injuries were running related. The first was the result of a fall I took years earlier that had weakened my SI joint and the latter was the result of keeping my foot in an awkward position while sitting on a motorcycle during a week-long ride.

In December, I decided to challenge myself: I would commit to moving for 30 minutes a day for the first 100 days of 2011. I wouldn’t worry about what the activity was, only that it was intentional movement. I needed to find a way to be consistent.

It was clear after a week that the challenge was going to be more difficult than I anticipated. I thought I’d simply extend my normal running schedule from four days a week to seven. That didn’t work. By the beginning of the third week I was beginning to experience the little haunting aches and pains that I remembered from earlier years. If I was going to be successful in this challenge, I had to change my approach.

I went back to the basics. I went all the way back to the first days of my decision to live an active life. Back then, at 43 years old and 100 pounds overweight, I had to start by walking. I couldn’t walk fast and I couldn’t walk far, but I could walk.

So I swallowed my runner’s pride. I put it out of my head that I had run 45 marathons and an untold number of 5Ks, 10Ks and half-marathons. I told myself the truth: I had to start from scratch.

It’s been an amazing process, and I’m several months into the challenge. I can’t remember a time when I felt like I’ve learned more about myself, more about my commitment to being active and more about what it’s going to take for me to live a truly healthy, active lifestyle.

I’ve learned that I’m older than I was when I started running. This might seem obvious since I’ve celebrated nearly 20 birthdays since I decided to get healthy, but it wasn’t obvious to me. I thought that I could just go grab a logbook from 15 years ago and do the same workouts. I know differently now.

I’ve learned that on the days I don’t feel like doing anything, a 30-minute walk is good enough. It’s better than giving up.

I’ve learned that it’s more important for me to be happy with what I have done than to worry about what I haven’t done. I’ve also learned that on some days easy is hard and on other days hard is easy.

Most importantly, I’ve learned that the joy I felt so many years ago still burns in my spirit.

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John Bingham, aka The Penguin, will share his running tales and experiences every month. Have a story of your own to share or a topic you’d like The Penguin to consider? E-mail him at thepen
guin@johnbingham.com.

Relax and run while you’re vacationing on the high seas.

Written by: Linzay Logan

This piece first appeared in the June issue of Competitor Magazine.

Vacationing aboard a cruise ship is a great way to relax and eat ‘till you pop, but getting in a run is about impossible—until now. Running cruise vacation packages allow you to relax at night while running on a Caribbean island or through the vineyards of Tuscany by day.

Six years ago race director Jerry Friesen created Cruise to Run. “It was a brain child of mine because my wife had always wanted to go on a cruise and I knew I was going to be stuck on a ship eating and drinking without any chance to run,” Friesen said. Cruise to Run takes one voyage every year aboard the Caribbean Princess; passengers can run seven events, from a 5K to a 13K, and even a hash run, in five different countries in five days.

An avid runner, and Competitor running columnist, John Bingham, also recognized the draw of the run-cruise and created Runner’s Cruises, which sail the Caribbean and Alaska twice a year, and take runners on a total of 26.2 miles over the course of a week.

“We get off the boat with numbers on our chests while everyone else is going to Margaritaville to get liquored up,” Bingham said. Book one of the designated cruises and register for races for an additional $195 to $250. Runningcruise.com; Cruisetorun.com

[sig:LinzayLogan]

Written by: Matt Fitzgerald

In a recent interview, Born to Run author Christopher McDougall said, “I’m really resistant to this focus we have on speed. If you do a 3:59 marathon you’re awesome, but if you do four hours, you suck. Humans are not fast, we are not speed creatures.”

When I started running back in 1983, this sentiment was unheard of, but within the ongoing second running boom, disparagement of the effort to run fast has become commonplace among the oracles of the sport (or hobby, as these folks might prefer to call it).

The most influential challengers of the speed objective in running is John “The Penguin” Bingham. I am privileged to be John’s Competitor Group colleague, and I enjoy hearing him speak at Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon expos. He always gets a few laughs by mocking the fast runners at the front of marathons who, he says, make themselves utterly miserable, drooling and grimacing in a fundamentally pointless effort to reach the finish line in the smallest possible span of time. Meanwhile, those at the back of the pack whose only objective is to reach the finish line comfortably have all the fun.

I don’t think there’s any risk that personal-record seekers like me are going to be pushed out of the sport (or hobby) of running by the likes of Christopher McDougall and John Bingham–who deserves to be sainted for singlehandedly bringing tens of thousands of men and women into the running community. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to defend the pursuit of speed in running. I believe that the effort to run as fast as one can in events can greatly enrich the running experience, and I would feel pretty good about converting a few current finish line seekers into future PR chasers.

As I see it, the great benefit of a performance focus in running is the sense of pride in achievement that it engenders. True, racers and cruisers alike partake of this benefit, but racers get a double portion. While runners who just cruise through marathons at the back of the pack may suffer less than those who fight for every second, let’s be real: running is hard at any pace and that’s half the reason we do it. Trying to impose hedonistic values—the idea that the runner who has the most fun is the true race winner—is like trying to cram a square peg into a round hole. If all you care about is pleasure, I can suggest a few dozen better things to do than run a marathon.

Human psychology is designed in such a way that we derive a great and lasting sense of pride and self-respect from completing difficult and meaningful tasks. That’s what makes crossing a marathon finish line for the first time such a magical experience for so many runners. It is satisfying in direct proportion to how difficult it was to get there. One of the major reasons marathon running has become so popular is that it is so damn hard to finish a marathon. Running is not really supposed to be fun in the moment; it’s supposed to strengthen your self-image when you’re not running by allowing you to know yourself—not fancy yourself, but know yourself—as something of a dragon slayer.

An easy life is an unfulfilling life. In Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl wrote, “What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him. What he needs is not the discharge of tension at any cost, but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him.” Modern society, with its heated seats and its online shopping and its pill for every discomfort, has become so suffocatingly easy that we need to go out of our way for opportunities to strive and struggle and thereby cultivate self-respect. Running goals fit the bill beautifully. Frankl nailed it in saying, “Sports allow men to build up situations of emergency. What he then demands of himself is unnecessary achievement—and unnecessary sacrifice. He artificially creates the tension that he has been spared by affluent society.”

So most runners, whether they aim for finish lines or personal-best finish times, are really after the same thing. But merely reaching the finish line only scratches the itch as long as it remains challenging. When you get to the point where completing the race is no big deal, you almost have to become a PR-seeker to continue earning that wonderful feeling of satisfaction you can only get from walking through the finish chute thinking, I ran absolutely as hard as I could. I faced the pain and the doubt and I did not back down one inch.

I don’t care how you try to rationalize mailing in your races. The runner who is able to think this thought simply gets more out of his or her racing experience than the runner who cannot.

If you ask the average person on the street what is the most fulfilling thing he or she has done, and then ask the same person what is the hardest thing he or she has ever done, you’re likely to hear the same answer twice. It’s the same way with running. Your hardest race is the one that you will remember most fondly. Pursuing the goal of completing the race as fast as you can, versus merely completing it, is how you set yourself up to make your races as hard and therefore as fulfilling as they can be.

What’s great is that this psychic benefit of pursuing speed is available to everyone. You don’t actually have to be fast to earn it. Ultimately, even those who are capable of winning races are competing against themselves, and find greater satisfaction in a hard-earned second-place finish than an easy victory. I believe that some runners who disparage the effort to run fast do so because they are jealous of the speed of faster runners. That’s a terrible mistake. Forget about the genetic freaks. Focus on beating your best past self and you will get just as much out of the race as the man and woman who break the tape far ahead of you.

There are many other benefits of running besides the fulfillment that comes from transcending personal limits. There are the health benefits, the social benefits, the enjoyment of nature benefits, and so forth. But I believe the pursuit of speed was the original point of running, and remains the fundamental (if not always acknowledged) point of every race.

The above-mentioned Christopher McDougall, aside from being “resistant to this focus on speed,” is also fond of talking about how running played a critical role in the shaping of the human species. He likes the evolutionary biologist Daniel Lieberman’s theory that humans ran long distances on the African plains a million years ago, hunting prehistoric antelope or whatever. To the degree that our ancestors depended on success in this endeavor for survival, it drove the process of natural selection that gradually transformed them from tree-climbing specialists into the distance-running specialists we are today.

Survival of the fittest, right? The fittest. Do you see where I’m going with this? It was the best, the fastest runners among our ancestors who actually caught the antelope and got the most meat and scored the most desirable mates and produced the most offspring with the most favorable genes for running performance, and that is how our ancestors became better runners. Every hunt was a race, and it’s only a slight exaggeration to say the winner lived and the losers died. (And by the way, it is utterly specious of McDougall to contend that human beings are not speed creatures but endurance creatures, as if a creature can’t be a mix of both, which is exactly what our kind is. Any camel can walk a marathon. No cheetah can run a 2:03:59 marathon.)

At some point in this process, I’m sure, children started to playfully emulate the hunting behaviors of their fathers. There were no antelope at stake in these games. Perhaps the kids chose a certain landmark in the distance as a substitute. The first finish lines. And the race as we know it was born. Obviously, these races were not run for health benefits or for the sake of communing with nature. They were strictly competitive. And while it was play, the play was life-and-death serious.

Today, we take it for granted that participating in mass-participation running events makes sense and is not absurd. But this is a very new idea. Running races have been a part of human culture for a hundred thousand years and more, but from a hundred thousand years ago until the last century, running races were always very small. For example, in 17^th-Century England, running was a popular betting sport, and most races were one-on-one matchups between the two fastest guys around. Why two and not two thousand? Because there was no timing. Think about it. What sense would it have made for anyone to run a race he had absolutely no chance of winning if the only standard of measurement in the race was win-lose? Seventeenth-century Englishmen saw no point at all and so races were mano-a-mano affairs.

It was the development of modern timing technology and nothing else that paved the way for today’s mass-participation running events. The time clock created a point to racing for everyone. No matter how far behind the winner you are, you can still compete, if only against your best past self. Yes, today we see lots of other reasons to participate in big road races, but these events would not exist—and you would not run them—if not for the clock.

Time is of the essence, as it were, of the formal running event. I’m not saying you have to care about your race times and make a dedicated effort to improve them. I’m just saying don’t listen to those guys who say you shouldn’t care.

[sgi:MattFitzgerald]

Check out Matt’s latest book, RUN: The Mind-Body Method of Running by Feel.

This one promises to be a true “Vegas” event complete with a huge production at the start which will include – and this all I can say – celebrity impersonators. I’ll find out more details tomorrow morning and will “tweet” and Facebook as much as I can. What I’m most excited about, to be honest, is what this event represents. Not only is it the final Rock ‘n’ Roll event of 2009, it’s also a testament to the strength, reach, and popularity of the Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon concept.

I was there at the beginning. In May of 1998 – which is about 100 years ago in internet years – Elite Racing produced the first Rock ‘n’ Roll event in San Diego. The “Suzuki Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon” was the first running event in history where there was no incentive to finish as fast as you could. There were bands and every mile. There were cheer stations. It was truly an event as much as a race. And with the firing of that start gun on that day the world of running changed forever.

Tim Murphy, then president of Elite Racing, was the mad scientist that concocted this brew of racing, running, partying, and celebrating. It was, at the time, an absurd idea. Although is seems obvious to us now, very few in the “real” running industry were enthusiastic about a 26.2 mile street party. The criticism was exactly what you’d expect, that it would ruin the sport of running, that it would encourage non-runners to participate, and that eventually marathon running would become popular. The only thing the experts didn’t say was that it would create global warming.

The success of the San Diego event led to the creation of the Country Music Marathon [and now half marathon], the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon in Virginia Beach and the Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona event in Phoenix. In just a few years the Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon series had gone from an amusing anomaly to an industry standard setting concept. No one is laughing anymore. The Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon series is now the dominant force in running.

What makes it work? It’s all about fun. In the old days the “races” used to be the final exam at the end of your training. These days, the “events” are the party to celebrate to end of your training. And that has made all the difference. Rather than feeling all stressed out on race weekend, rather than having your stomach in knots about what your time is going to be, you can now turn up on race weekend relieved that you only need to run or walk the last 13.1 or 26.2 miles of your season. It’s FANTASTIC.

So I’ll be there. I’ll be there as a member of the staff. But more importantly I’ll be there as one of the thousands of cheerleaders doing all I can to help folks have the time of their lives.

Waddle on,

Sitting in a hotel room in the shadow of the Alamo, it’s hard not to reflect on what some people are willing to sacrifice in order to fulfill a dream. To be honest, the Hyatt is NOT in the shadow of the Alamo, since the Alamo itself is remarkable small considering it’s significance. But, you get the point.

I’m here for the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Antonio Marathon and Half Marathon. I’ve been so San Antonio several times now, and it’s one of those cities that opens up like a flower. It takes more than one trip to see and understand what’s here.

Everyone starts with the Alamo, and for good reason. It’s more than just a monument, it’s an icon of what it means to be a Texan. The battle there has become the standard by which courage and determination are measured.

Then, most folks take in the River Walk. Since I visited San Antonio the first time, in the mid-1990′s, the River Walk has developed into a wonderful collection of restaurants and shops and historic sites. I walked for about an hour this afternoon and will do a long run in the morning. I’m looking forward to it.

San Antonio seems like the perfect blend of Tex-Mex. Even walking down the street the smells coming out of the restaurants are a blend of the familiar and the exotic. I”m hungry almost all the time.

We’re all winding down the Rock ‘n’ Roll series for 2009. After San Antonio there;s just Las Vegas left. But then we’ll all gather again in Phoenix for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona event and we’ll be back at it again.

I can’t wait.

John "The Penguin" Bingham

This past weekend was the Chicago Marathon. Even though I don’t have anything to do with the event I still take pride in my hometown marathon. I’ve run it many times and just find the energy, spirit, and beauty of the City of Chicago to be unmatched.

In addition to speaking at the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s inspiration dinner on Saturday, I spent the day Sunday out on the course cheering. It was a fantastic day; a little cool for those of us standing around, but a nearly perfect day for running with temperatures in the high 30′s to low 40′s. It was a great day for a personal best.

My wife, Coach Jenny Hadfield, is the co-owner of Chicago Endurance Sports and they had over 300 hundred of their folks participating in the marathon. Their post-race party was at the Restaurant on the Green in Millennium Park. I had a chance to sit around and hear lots of marathon stories. Almost without exception, people were delighted with their day. Almost, but not all.

One young man was disappointed. He’d take 45 minutes off his previous Chicago Marathon time. He’d taken 15 minutes off his BEST marathon time and yet he couldn’t bring himself to be happy. I felt badly for him. It seemed like such a shame that a person could perform so well and still not find the joy.

The truth is he’s probably not alone. It’s one of the big mysteries about running for me; how is it that people can do well and still be miserable. It’s not just marathons either. I see folks finishing a 5K in 19 minutes who scream and holler all the way through the finish chute about how awful their run was. They would, I’m sure, be shocked if they saw me finish a 5K in 35 minutes looking like I’d just won an Olympic Gold medal.

I suppose it’s all in your perspective. I don’t think I deserve to be a runner. I certainly don’t think I deserve to be a fast runner. I don’t deserve to be able to run personal bests at every distance at every race. No. I’m grateful every time I cross a finish line. I’m grateful for the health I have and the opportunities I have to participate. Heck, I’m grateful every time I lace up my shoes. After 45 years of a lifestyle that was killing me, I’m just happy to be upright and moving.

The message is lost on some people. My fear is that they are missing what may end up being the best times of their lives, not to mention the best TIMES of their lives. There’s no telling what tomorrow may bring. It’s a cliche’, I know. But life does have to be lived one day at a time.

So if you see me at a race smiling, be nice to me. I may not be fast, but I’m happy. And if you feel like it, come join me.

ORN: I’ve recovered enough to be using a run 4 min, walk 2 min interval. I haven’t increased the mileage much, but that’s coming. I may actually try a half marathon early next year. YIKES.

Waddle on,

John "The Penguin" Bingham

OK, so I’m running along in the Hundred Acre Wood, enjoying the first really cool Fall day, letting my mind wander, and I look up and two high school girls are running towards me. They were wearing some kind of school t-shirt so I figured they were part of a cross-country team. Sure enough, a few seconds later, 3 more girls came running by.

There was no acknowledgment, of course, of this old man out there running, but I didn’t expect anything different. THEN, I look up, and a pack of about 15 girls are running towards me like a herd of buffalo, and with about the same level of courtesy. They covered the entire trail and showed no signs of relenting. Ultimately, I had to YELL “HEADS UP” or I would have been run over.

I was bugged! It’s cool that a group of young women are out there training. It’s cool that they are intense and focused on their training. It’s NOT cool to be oblivious to everything and everyone else that’s on the path. I’m glad that’s off my chest.

This past weekend in San Jose I had a chance to spend some time with Olympic Marathon Silver Medalist Meb Keflezighi. He was on the experts panel and I interviewed him during his clinic. WHAT a GREAT GUY. I don’t know why I’m always surprised that runners at that level are so nice. Because they ALL are.

I asked him what the best single piece of advice he ever got was and he said this: His coach told him to never breathe harder than the person next to you. In other words, never let them know how hard you’re working – or – how much you’re hurting. I’ve heard Frank Shorter say something similar. He says that whenever he was hurting he’d remind himself that the runners around him were hurting just as much. The difference between winning and second place was often who could hurt the longest.

He talked about his training and the importance of easy days. He often starts his runs at a 7:30 pace, which is 3 minutes slower than his fast pace. It was very reinforcing for me since I start ALL my runs by walking. The secret to training well – at his pace or mine – is taking care of yourself. So many of us train too hard too often and never really achieve our potential. A big thanks to Meb for the reminder.

I’ll be in Chicago with Team in Training for the Chicago Marathon this weekend. GO TEAM.

ORN [obligatory running note] I had two wonderful runs in San Jose in the Guadalupe River Park. Just a block or so from downtown there was this beautiful paved path that went on for miles and miles. Someone told me that it ties into another trail and goes on for a total of 38 miles.

I’m finally back to running a 4/2, run/walk, sequence. I’ve been being very careful since the surgery to bring myself back slowly. The last thing I wanted was to get injured. So in San Jose I did a 5 mile run, my longest run since last May, and it felt GREAT. So good that the next day I went out and ran 4 more miles. I’m telling myself to BE careful.

John "The Penguin" Bingham

This is the big transition weekend. The summer officially ends this weekend which can only mean one thing. The event season is here. My bags are packed and will stay packed for the next 10 months. I’ll be at the Rock ‘n’ Roll races in VA Beach, Philly, San Jose, San Antonio, Las Vegas, Arizona, New Orleans, Dallas, and Nashville. WHEW. There’s more, but I’m tired just thinking about the schedule.

This weekend I’ll be at one of my favorite events, the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon in Virginia Beach. I wrote a column about it a few years ago. It’s got, I think, the greatest finish of any race anywhere. That last mile or so is along the beach, you cross the finish line, get your medal and a cool towel, turn left, and soak your feet in the ocean. Oh yeah! Plus, the music festival is the same weekend so there are bands playing up and down the beach.

I spent the weekend in a very un-running environment at the Red Bull Indy MotoGP race. Most people know that I am a big motorcycle enthusiast, having owned over 50 bikes, so it’s not out of character to be at the races. I’ve also agreed to be a “Scooter Guru” for the Vespa company and rode the fanstastic Piaggio MP3 400 to the race. I’ve written all about the trip at: The Penguin Times. The short story is that I had a wonderful time with my son and an old riding buddy.

ORN: Unfortunately, my running has really suffered this week. In part because of the schedule and in part because I’ve managed to come down with an intestinal funk. Several years ago, at the Mayor’s Midnight Sun Marathon in Anchorage, I encountered something that just tore up my system. Best diagnosis was that it was some kind of parasite that I got from a food source. This has the same feel, and I’m not happy.

I was able to get out and walk for nearly an hour yesterday in my beloved 100-acre wood, my tribute to Winnie the Pooh and friends. I’m hoping to get out and run later today. What’s really annoying about this is that I was just coming back from having to take 4 weeks off after the hernia surgery. My running was better than ever since I was running pain free for the first time in years. It’s a setback.

My hope is to train for, and run, a half marathon at some point this fall or early winter. Because of the hernia I haven’t been doing anything longer than 4 miles for a couple of years. I’ve enjoyed the shorter distances because I could run more often, but it’s time to get back in a long-distance training program. As soon as I can this intestinal business settled, I’ll grab a copy of Marathoning for Mortals and start training.

If you’re headed to VA Beach, come look me up. I’ll be at the expo and helping out at the Run to Victory booth.

Waddle on.

Reaching Michigan wasn’t the point. We wanted to get the maps, plan the route, figure out where to camp, what to wear, and what to carry on our bikes. Enjoying the months of preparing was the real reason for the ride. I think if we ever had gotten to Sault Sainte Marie, we wouldn’t have known what to do next.

These days people travel thousands of miles to “destination races” to run with friends who live down the block. On the surface it doesn’t make sense. Why go to San Diego, or Miami, or Bermuda to do what you can do at home? But I get it. It isn’t just about the place. It’s about dreaming and working toward getting there. It’s about finding the motivation to get out the door in the middle of an Ohio winter because you know there’s a postrace day at the beach or a beautiful trail run awaiting you. It doesn’t really matter where you are if where you’re going sounds better.

Of the 45 marathons I’ve run, 42 of them could be called destination races. I’ve run races in the Northeast when the leaves are changing and the hillsides are a kaleidoscope of colors. I’ve run a marathon on the coastal highway in California with the Pacific Ocean in view the whole time. I’ve run along South Beach in Florida and seen the beautiful—and not so beautiful—soaking up the sun and fun.

As scenic as these runs were, as beautiful as the courses were, as friendly as the participants were, I realized they were secondary to the satisfaction I felt from all the hard work I had put in to be there. This was never truer than at the Antarctica Marathon few years back. I trained for it through one of the worst Decembers in Chicago history. I dragged my butt out the door in below-freezing temperatures and ran in ice and snow with my Yak Tracks on. I stopped shaving for four months so I’d have that rough, explorer look, or at least keep my face warm.

On the day of the race, a storm blew in and prevented us from landing. That meant instead of running a marathon on a glacier, I was going to run 522 laps around the deck of our ship, and I had a great time doing it. I realized that running the race was more about celebrating what I had already accomplished, not what I was going to accomplish that day.

Find someplace you’ve always wanted to go and see when they have a race you’re interested in. Italy or France, Timbuktu or Cleveland. Once you have that goal, every mile of training will take you just a little closer to it. Every step shortens the distance between you and your dream. You may find, as I did, that the joy of working toward that goal is its own reward.

Waddle on, friends.

John "The Penguin" Bingham

Famed running aficionado John “The Penguin” Bingham has twenty tips for happy training. In the final installment, The Penguin outlines his final five tips to get you on the road to more enjoyable running.

16. Packing Your Parachute

No skydiver would ever jump out of a plane without thoroughly checking all of his equipment. The skydiver knows that his life depends on everything working well.

Your race depends on your equipment. Take the time now to look over your shoes, your race apparel, your travel plans, and make sure that everything is ready for the big day.

17. Final Resting Pace

There’s an old adage in long distance running. It says: “If you can’t be well trained, be well rested”. It sounds funny, but it’s true.

At this point no more training is really going to do you any good. The most important training you can do now is resting. Take the time to get your head together and let your body heal.

18. Perform in the Storm

Anyone can run or walk a long-distance race if they never have to put their feet on the ground. It’s easy to think and plan and prepare in your mind. It’s easy to imagine what the race will be like, or what you’d like it to be.

Make sure you’re ready for the real race. Once you cross that starting line you’ll need to face the challenges head on, with courage and conviction.

19. Ready to Rip

A good friend, when asked how he was feeling, was likely to say: “I feel like a tight pair of pants. I’m READY to RIP” You may be feeling like a tight pair of pants. Your muscles are firm, and you’re likely to be in the best shape of your life.

This is the time to be cautious. If you’ve backed off your training you may be thinking that you’ve got more time to do other things. Don’t be tempted to try to catch up with anything you’ve missed during training. There’s nothing left to do but wait.

20. Get ready to Party!

In the old days, races were like final exams. You prepared during the training season and then let it all hang out on race day. Those days are gone forever. These days the races are the celebration of what you’ve achieved.

You’ll stand at the starting line with 30,000 of your closest friends and run and walk through a great city, around a historic track, and return to a heroes welcome. The final step across the finish line makes it all worthwhile.

Tips 1-5

Tips 6-10

Tips 11-16

John "The Penguin" Bingham

Famed running aficionado John “The Penguin” Bingham has twenty tips for happy training.  In part-three, The Penguin outlines five more tips to get you on the road to more enjoyable running.

11. Chutes and Ladders

A long distance training program is a lot like the old board game Chutes and Ladders. In the first few weeks of training the program seems like a ladder. The mileage goes up, your pace gets faster, and you think that the progress will last forever.

But, then you hit one of the Chutes. Your mileage cuts back. You miss a workout or two and have to start a few days back. Just remember that the cycle of success is normal. Going backwards is just as important as going forward.

12. Gathering Momentum

As the end starts to come into sight, it’s time to focus on gathering your momentum towards race day. Now is the time to check the wear on your shoes, the state of your socks, and the completeness of your race day wardrobe.

It’s also a good time to go back and reread your training log. Look at the time and the miles that you’ve already put in. Look at how much more you’ve done than you have left to do.

13. Running Ugly

Even good athletes have bad days. Even good runners have days when they don’t want to run. The closer it gets to race day the more pressure you may feel to make every workout a great workout. It may not happen.

Stay with your program. Trust in your training. Don’t worry about the quality of any particular workout. Focus on the quality of the days and weeks and months that you’ve already put in.

14. Unknown territory

By now many of your long runs may be personal records. If this was your first half marathon training program you may have been running farther than you’ve ever run week after week.

You’ve been an explorer in unknown territory. You’ve boldly gone where you’ve never gone before, and you’ve not only survived but you’ve gotten stronger. You have become what you set out to be. A long distance athlete.

15. Energy Management

The essence of long distance athletics is energy management. It doesn’t matter if you’re Lance Armstrong in the Tour de France or a regular person getting ready for a half marathon; energy management is the key to success.

And it’s not just your physical energy that you’ve got to monitor and manage, but your emotional a psychic energy as well. As you taper your physical training it’s a good time to calm your emotions. You’re nearly there. It’s time to relax and get ready.

Tips 1-5

Tips 6-10

By John Bingham

There’s a quote by William Purkey, a well-known professor of education, that goes, “Dance like no one is watching, love like you’ll never be hurt, sing like no one is listening, and live like it’s heaven on earth.” It seems like the perfect life philosophy—and one I’ve learned to apply to running over the years. I run like no one is watching, even when I’m racing with 35,000 people. I’m usually having so much fun, I simply don’t care what anyone else thinks.

But I didn’t always feel this way. In my early days, when I weighed 240 pounds, I ran like everyone was watching—and judging. If I was on a run and saw a car approaching, I’d stop and pretend I was looking for something I’d lost.

I was so concerned with what other people thought of me that by the time I did open up about running, I constantly worried whether I was living up to their expectations. My first coach put me on a treadmill, dialed up the pace to 9:20 per mile, and said to run for 40 minutes. I tried and, not surprisingly, failed. I couldn’t help but be disappointed in myself—even though I knew what he was asking was nearly impossible for me.

I even dressed like people were watching. I bought the high-tech gear and sleek clothes that I thought would make people believe I was a runner—even if I felt like an imposter in them. And I didn’t have a clue if the expensive shoes I was wearing were the right kind for me—I just wanted to look like I fit in with this group.

To be honest, I felt a certain satisfaction in believing that someone was watching. I really thought that other people cared about my performance. The best example of this was a combined, two-lap marathon and half in Florence, Italy. As I neared the finish line, the crowd began to cheer. I was astounded. Here I was, thousands of miles from home, and the Italians were yelling for “Il Penguino.”

About 20 yards from the finish, the truth set in when the winner of the full marathon went past me as I was finishing the half-marathon. No one was cheering for me. No one probably even noticed that I was finishing. I couldn’t help but smile at my own illusion of self-importance.

That’s when I realized I had been running for every reason except the right one. I ran to make other people happy, ran to live up to their expectations. But that didn’t matter. No one was watching—no one cared. So I decided I was going to run for me—just me—and gained a new enjoyment from the sport I hadn’t truly experienced yet. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to improve or sometimes wish I could run faster. It just means that the joy I feel when I’m moving my body with my own two feet is so great that the act alone is satisfying enough. I’ve learned to run like no one is watching.

So if you see me at a race, and I look like a 60-year-old guy waddling along, don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I’m happy. You see, I remember those words that first appeared here 13 years ago: “The miracle isn’t that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start.”

Waddle on, friends.

By John Bingham

When I was in my 20s, I spent a number of years working as a professional motorcycle mechanic. I knew just enough to get the job but not nearly enough to do it. 

One of the first lessons I learned from Stuart, a crusty older mechanic, was that there are a few immutable principles: (1) if it can be lubricated, it needs to be lubricated; (2) if it can be adjusted, it needs to be adjusted; (3) if it’s worn out, replace it; and (4) if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. It’s amazing how far you can go as a mechanic if you remember these rules. And though our lives as runners may seem to be more complicated than a motorcycle, I’m not so sure they are. Most of us overcomplicate nearly everything we do, including our running. 

I’ll get into a training sequence that works for a few weeks, then slowly but surely it becomes less effective. I’ll run at the same pace or same effort day after day and wonder why I don’t seem to get anywhere. Like a rusty nut on a bolt, my training becomes stuck. It doesn’t do any more good to try to make the training work than it does to try to loosen a rusty nut. All you’re going to do with the nut is round off the head. All you’re going to do with your training is round off the joy. 

What you need, sometimes, is a little oil to get inside and free you up. One of the best running lubricants for me is leaving my watch at home. The simple act of liberating myself from the constraints of time is often enough to loosen the grip of my training regimen. It’s just a matter of taking the pressure off.

There are plenty of times when runners need to make adjustments. Five weeks into a 20-week marathon training program, your child gets sick, you develop an injury, or a big project at work comes up, and you have to make an adjustment. You need to reevaluate your goals, redefine your criteria for success, and create a new plan. Maybe the mileage you planned is more than your body can handle, the speedwork is more than your spirit can handle, or maybe the rest of your life won’t accommodate your race plan. When any of those things happens, it’s time to back off, rethink, recalculate, and get real. 

Sometimes, things just wear out. Running shoes wear out, socks wear out, and believe me, the elastic in running shorts wears out. But attitudes and beliefs wear out too. Maybe you think that you’re too tall, short, fat, skinny, young, old, or any of a hundred reasons to limit yourself. You might be surprised to learn that these kinds of beliefs can–and do–wear out. You may find that the beliefs you’ve been carrying around for so many years are just not working anymore. If they are, it’s time to replace them. Believe that you can run farther or faster. Believe that you’re young enough, old enough, strong enough, and so on to accomplish everything you want to do. Don’t let worn out beliefs stop you from moving beyond yourself. 

Just as important as knowing what to lube, adjust, and throw away is knowing what to leave alone. Chances are that the majority of what’s going on in your running life is just fine. If your running is satisfying and fun, don’t change a thing. 

In the end, runners probably aren’t much more complicated than motorcycles. As long as you don’t forget the rules.

Waddle on, friends.

By John Bingham

There are some truly great marathon finish lines: Boston, with the run up Boylston; New York, running through Central Park; Chicago, heading up Michigan Avenue. They are all views not to be missed. My problem with these finishes was that by the time I got there, with the exception of Chicago, the sun was already going down.

This may help explain why I’ve become more and more excited about running half-marathons. After all, my half-marathon time is pretty good–if it was for a full marathon. And since the general public doesn’t really know the difference, when I say I ran a (mumble here) half-marathon in under three hours, they’re pretty impressed. 

I’ve often said that the running universe changed forever in June of 1998 with the first Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon in San Diego. No one had ever seen so many bands and cheerleaders on a marathon course. There was–and still is–no incentive at all to finish that course as fast as you can.

But when the folks at Elite Racing decided to create a Rock ‘n’ Roll Half-Marathon in Virginia Beach in 2001, I’m sure most of the industry thought they were out of their minds. Who would come to Virginia Beach on Labor Day weekend to run only a half-marathon? Well, about 12,000 people came the first year. It has grown each year, and my guess is about 20,000 running, walking, music-loving, sun-bunnies will be there on September 4. 

I’ve run the race for the past three years. I didn’t run the first year because, to be honest, I was a marathon snob. A half-marathon was okay for someone who didn’t have the time, talent, or tenacity to run a full marathon. But not me. I was a marathoner. 

I was also dead wrong. First off, the race isn’t half of a full marathon; it’s a full half-marathon. I’ve seen many marathoners, myself included, take the distance lightly, thinking it can be knocked out as a training run. It can’t. Some 10-K specialists think the half is like a really, really, long 10-K course. It isn’t. It isn’t like any other distance at all, not even its predecessor the 20-K. It is a race distance unto itself. 

And the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half-Marathon is a race unto itself. You can see it in the crowds at the expo. They aren’t the wired, uptight, on-the-edge-of-nausea marathon crowd. They are laughing, hanging at the beach, staying up late, and listening to the music. They are there to party.

I don’t think they’re excited because it isn’t a full marathon. They’re excited because it is a half-marathon. It’s a distance that many–or most–never conceived of running. It is still the accomplishment of a lifetime for nearly everyone. 

When it’s over in Virginia Beach, you get your medal, walk across the sand, and stick your feet in the Atlantic Ocean. Everyone finishes before dark. Heck, everyone finishes before noon. Even someone like me can tell his friends to meet after the race for lunch, rather than for a post-marathon dinner. 

In the end, the distance doesn’t diminish the experience. In fact, it may well be enhanced. Many runners seem to want to mark off a marathon as a life goal and be done with it. But at the end of the half, most finishers are already planning for their next one.

It’s like I’ve been saying: It’s half the distance but twice the fun.

Waddle on, friends.

 By John Bingham

When I was young, my mom has this odd habit of buying something nice (like a watch or jewelry or shoes), wrapping it in a towel, and putting it in the attic. Then she’d buy the same thing (but not nearly as nice) and use it instead of the “good” stuff, which she reserved for “special occasions.” The thinking was that if you didn’t use something, it would last forever. I took the same approach with my body for most of my life. I figured that if I didn’t use my body, it would last forever. Considering that on the day of my very first run I owned nine motorcycles, tow cars, a VW camper, a lawn tractor, and a gas powered weed wacker, I was in no danger of overworking myself.

As a former motorcycle mechanic, though, I understood that for bikes to perform their best, they had to be maintained. I would spend hours and days adjusting and lubricating and polishing. Id change the air filters on the vehicles so the engines would get clean air, all the while smoking a pack and a half of cigarettes a day, polluting my own lungs. I was a fanatic about the kind of gas and oil that I used in the bikes, but Id put any kind of junk inside myself.

But what I discovered, beginning with my very first run, was that unlike a piece of mechanical equipment, which wears out the more you use it, I actually got stronger the more I worked out. I was barley able to run (really, it was more of a waddle) for a quarter of a mile that first day, but within just a few weeks, I could cover an entire mile. It took me nearly 30 minutes, but I was able to do it.

Our bodies do share one similarity with mechanical equipment. If you don’t understand their limits, you can break them. When running and walking 30 minutes three days a week felt good, I decided that running and walking 60 minutes six days a week would be twice as good. It didn’t take long for an injury to slow me down. And that was when I learned the most important lesson of all: patience.

It turns out that my body will do almost anything I ask for it as long as I give it time to adjust to new demands. I’ve been able to complete 45 marathons by gently coaxing my legs to go just a little farther every week. I was able to run faster by pushing myself just a little harder every now and then.

The simple truth is that when it comes to our bodies, we really do have to use them or lose them. If we let them go to waste, we’ll wake up one day and realize that even if we want to run, we cant. By not pushing ourselves, we concede to an inevitable decline, a loss of mobility—a future where we become prisoners in our own bodies.

I’ve learned that the way to make our body last is to use it. The way to make sure all the internal parts are working is by moving all the external part. And most important-whether your goal is to run one mile, to complete your first 5-K, or to qualify for the Boston Marathon-understand that your body is a marvelous machine and you are you own mechanic.

Waddle on, friends.

By John Bingham

Any trip down memory lane is likely to bring up old emotions. I used to play the bass trombone (professionally, I mean), and I recently came across the audition tapes I made nearly 20 years ago. I never actually got a job by using those tapes, but they represent an important part of my life nonetheless. An injury (pinched nerve in my arm from overuse) ended my musical career shortly after I made the tapes, so there is some sadness to be sure. But there is also a sense of wonder that I’d ever had the skill and discipline to do something at that level.

All of this got me thinking. I wondered if anyone would take up the trombone at, say, 43, and expect to perform at a near-professional level in a year or so. I wondered if anyone would believe that an adult who couldn’t so much as read music could quickly and easily learn a vast musical repertoire. Then I wondered why adult-onset athletes in general and adult-onset runners in particular think they should be able to run as fast or as far as lifelong runners do. 

I wonder all this because that’s exactly what I did. Middle-aged, overweight, smoker, drinker, overeater, I thought I could train like a seasoned athlete. In my naiveté, I thought that beginners’ running programs were for beginners. Real beginners, like, oh I don’t know, a 2-year-old child who had barely learned to walk. 

I’d run for 12 weeks 20 years earlier when I went through Army Basic Infantry Training, so I wasn’t really a beginner. I was just coming back to running after a two-decade hiatus. I knew I wasn’t an advanced runner, but surely I was capable of using the intermediate program. I just assumed that it would all come back.

It didn’t. What did come back was the knee pain I remembered from Basic. And the foot pain. And the hip pain. And the boredom. And the hating to run. 

For whatever reason, we accept that starting late as a musician limits us. And so it was with my running. In time, I came to accept that the days before I started running were every bit as important as the days after. No amount of effort or training was going to overcome a lifetime of indiscretion. This acceptance came as quite a shock. And I wasn’t happy about it. 

I wasn’t happy that I’d never be able to place in my age group. I wasn’t happy that I wouldn’t achieve the sort of unquestioned recognition that I had achieved as a musician. I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t stop running either. 

Now I’m content with running in the context of a life lived fully, if not well. I’m content in the way the adult pianist is content with clawing his way through Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. I know that even if I’m not doing it well, it’s better than not doing it at all. 

And on those days when I find that the baggage I’d need for a longer trip down memory lane is just too heavy for me to carry, I remind myself that no one can make me carry those bags anymore. I can’t change the road I took to get here, and I’m not sure I would. 

For now I try not to look too far back. But I also try not to look too far ahead. Keeping my eye on today is about all I’m capable of. And today, I think I’ll go for a run. 

Waddle on, friends.

 By John Bingham

I live and run in an area where there are lots of dogs. There are dogs that always seem glad to see me and others whose intent seems to be to chase me and make sure that I do my speedwork that day. The dogs, in general, seem fine. It’s the dog owners that I worry about.

Not long ago, a reader of my blog on Runnersworld.com asked what to do if you’re running and are approached by an unleashed dog. When I posted my answer, I had no idea it would generate the most heated responses I’ve ever received. Turns out, you can say what you want about people’s children, but you better not say anything bad about their dogs-even if they’re chasing you.

My response was that it’s best to stop, face the dog, and yell at it. Usually that will slow the dog down and make it think about what’s its doing. It doesn’t always work, but it’s the first, best thing.

That’s when the trouble started. The ensuing debate, filled with the kind of acrimony usually reserved for politics and religion, centered on whether dogs should be leased or allowed to run free. The arguments on both sides were passionate.

The “dogs gotta be dogs” side argued that while some dogs might be aggressive, their Muffin or Thor-depending on the breed-was always friendly and approached even strangers with a wagging tail and slobbering demeanor. Their dog was their running partner, and they believed it shouldn’t be penalized for having an extra pair of legs.

On the other side of the debate were runners who didn’t want to be hassled (or worse) while running. And not by dogs in particular. Their argument was that while Thor may be friendly, they don’t know that when the beast is rushing at them. They don’t feel compelled to assess the nature of the dog before deciding whether to feel panic or joy.

And then the legal argument over lease laws started. At that point we went from a conversation about canines to an emotional dispute involving civil disobedience and individual rights. The leash-law advocates wanted dogs and their owners arrested and jail. The “run free or die” crowd was just as certain they and their dogs had inalienable right to live unfettered by leashes or laws.

So where do I stand? On one hand, I know the bond between humans and pets is powerful; running with your pooch-which is free to follow ahead, behind, or next to you-can ring joy to both owner and pet. But there’s a lot to be said for keeping dogs leashed on shared use paths. It isn’t just to protect runners-it’s also to protect the dogs. I’ve seen unleashed dogs sprayed with pepper and hit by bicycles because their owners didn’t have the sense to keep them safe and leashed.

In the end, we have to be true to the covenant that we have with our pets: that we will do our best to care for them, to protect them, and to love them with integrity. And when you consider that, in return they give us unconditional love and joy, It’s the least we can do.

Waddle on, friends.