A Contest for FREE Copy of A Walk with Rose

I am interested in getting opinions on some ideas that my terrific cover designer, Kit Foster of the UK, has come up with for A Walk with Rose. As a thank you, I will be giving away a free copy of the story to one person, selected at random, from anybody that comments or votes on the covers.

If you would like a chance to win a copy of A Walk with Rose, just let me know which cover think is the bestPick the one that you prefer and let me know in the comments or, if you would like to email me, use the contact info on that tab.

The contest will end on October 7th, 2013.

Many, many thanks!

Paul Duffau

Ps. A Reminder that 25 percent of the profits will go to the Lewis Clark Animal Shelter.

PPS. If you would like to read the first Act of the story, you can here. Please remember that it is an unedited version. New and improved is on the way.

Keeping Promises

Keeping promises - especially to your kids - is a crucial part of life. So when my daughter asked me to join her in a half-marathon next summer (2014), I was leery of saying yes. This broken down body of mine limped through most days when I walked, much less when I tried running. I said yes anyway.

Rational? No, not really but, at a fundamental level, I needed an anchor. I've always succeeded when I was willing to accept the price of the dream, whether chasing after an ultra or starting a business. I've also had my moments of deciding that, nope, I wasn't willing to pay that price. Early in my working career, problems abounded because I act on my beliefs. That usually acts as an impediment in corporate America.

So, I said "F. it" and found employment where I worked as my own boss. When I got tired of even that little bit of control, I started a business. About the same time, my gout exploded from an occasional annual bout to monthly attacks and my running went from 70 miles a week to be glad that walking didn't hurt too much and squeezing what miles I could when I didn't hurt too bad.

My doctor through the last five years of this has been the essence of patience. She never let me off the hook for how hard I pushed but, together, we worked on it. Along the way, we discovered that I react to most NSAIDs which makes controlling the outbreaks a pain.

I'm also reactive - I don't want to say allergic because it's not a 'take a dose, have an anaphylactic fit' - to the gout medications and diet was getting me only so far. Prednisone would knock down the swelling but wipe me out from running for three weeks or more.

Then came last year's Spokane to Sandpoint relay and, the night before, a mild gout attack. The team used up their its pool of replacements covering for a young lady with the flu. I ran the relay with the bum foot and along the way, set a new performance standard when on of my teammates cheered me on with a shout of "You're not limping!" Good enough and it got me through the weekend.

I went to see her - again - after that. Diet wasn't working and the attacks were getting more frequent. In December, she offered to try me out with a new medication.

No problem.

I read the literature. It would trigger attacks for two months to two years while it cleaned out my system - if I didn't react to it first.

It was in January that my daughter asked me to run with her, in the midst of what would turn into a six month long attach of gout that moved from joint to joint and often occupied two or three joints at once.  I hadn't run since early December when I visited a friend in Eugene.

I said yes, anyway.

And then began worrying about keeping promises. I ran when I could - twice in a week sometimes, separated by two or three weeks by another attack. Running too much actually triggers more attacks.

And I had to suck up what pride I had left. Once I could run 100 miles. This summer, it was down to two miles and I had to stop. So, two miles at a time I ran and one day it was two and a half.

Today, it was about six. And for a short stretch of trail, the stride was strong, the ground flew by, and I chased a mule deer through the wood.  The deer won and it wasn't close but for that moment, a little sliver of hope that I kept banked and carefully tended, burst into flame.

Because I think that I'm going to be able to keep my promise to my daughter. And while keeping promises is important, rekindling hope can life-changing. For me, a small change, a return to what was.

But if you can kindle hope in someone who has no belief in the future, you've done them a great service. I look at all the children who have already given up whether it's due to family circumstances or crappy schools or the gangbangers on the corner and I want to find a way to inspire them.

And I don't know how. Not yet. But I will.

I promise. Somewhere, sometime, I'm going to make that connection.

Long runs for Junior High School

Defining long runs for junior high school athletes can drive a coach slightly batty. At one end of the spectrum, you have the kids that are natural runners and, in some cases, already ran on a regular basis before the cross country season started. The other end of that spectrum is occupied by the kids that are doing this for the first time and for whom a jog around the block may be the furthest they've ever run.

In Asotin, even with a very young team - we have no eighth grade girls and the boys team has only two- we have both, just as every school does. A difference for us is that some of our seventh graders were with us last year and bought into running - and baseball for the boys.

So we've adopted two strategies. The first was to take the strongest of the experienced runners and let them run with the high school team on the easy days for the high school. Even that is a bit much for them but an occasional dose - and exposure to the work ethic that our high school athletes have - is meaningful for them.

The other strategy we used yesterday is to let the kids segregate into groups - for the most part, we let them self-select - and each coach plus a volunteer, my daughter Sara, took a group out. Different paces, different distances, different goals.

For the speedy Gonzalez's, it was about 4.5 miles at 9 minute pace. Some of the kids bit off a touch more than they could chew and eased into the park at the end at a walk. One kid, feeling a twinge, wisely did the same after 3.5 miles.

I ran with the middle group. These were mostly kids that are new to running (one was an eighth grade boy that I wanted in the group for some leadership) and we discovered all sorts of things on a 3.25 mile jaunt at 'Coach Paul' pace. One girl noticed another constantly speeding up and then stopping to walk - understandable as she is a sprinter on the track team. Pacing is new to her but I was tickled that I wasn't the one that pointed it out to her but a teammate did. One of the sixth grade boys had never run this far so he got a PR on distance - it certainly won't be his last.

The final group, led by Sara, was on a mission: Run without walking. It doesn't seem like an ambitious goal for athletes but for kids that have no base of running, learning that they can do this is huge. The emphasis is not speed but perseverance. For most, it was a success.

Since we're dealing with young athletes, we don't do many long runs and, obviously, what is a long run to the kids now will someday be a short easy day. When we plan long runs for junior high athletes we take the long view and make sure that we give them just enough of a challenge to help them develop and not so much that we kill the run or injury the runner.

Because, in the long run, we want them to be runners for life.

No Dogs Allowed - Asotin District Policy

Stitch, our dog, apparently followed Kelly Brady, neighbor and teacher, to school yesterday here in Asotin. For those that don't know us, we live directly across from Asotin's school. I don't break it down by Asotin High School, Middle School, Elementary School because they're all housed in the same group of buildings. The entire district is smaller that some graduating classes at city schools. We like it that way.

Anyway, somebody (...er, sorry sweetie!) left a door to the front open, so Stitch went exploring. From what we can gather, he grazed on the grass in front before playing in traffic - thank goodness for a small town! - but got bored so he followed a friend right into class. Algebra I apparently. Mrs. Brady, according to reports from the youngest daughter, has never had this particular experience. Neither had the students and they were begging to be allowed to fire up their phones and take pictures.

The principal was not at all amused.

Sadly, they didn't even offer an assessment to see if he was ready for Algebra I.Stitch the gone got sent home from school, making him the first in the family (I think - my mother will correct the record if I am wrong.)

The Starter - A Guy with a (Fake) Gun

Cross country season is off to a great start - not in small part due to the volunteers that help staff the meets here such as Les - today's starter at the Seaport Invite in Clarkston, Washington. I've watched Les start races in the Inland Northwest for about a decade and always wondered at his easy disposition and calming effect on a mob of athletes itching to sprint away. Today was nice because I had a chance to chat with him briefly after the junior varsity race got under way since I was the backup timer today and didn't have to call splits at the mile mark.

This marks the 28th year that Les has acted as a race official, working both cross country and track. Before that, he coached for a couple of decades - between the two, he has five decades of experience which is a stunning concept, at least for me (having just reached my fiftieth year - it means he started coaching the year I was born.) He plans on sticking around for at least a few more years so that number will only grow. Like Ripken's consecutive game streak in baseball or Coach K's wins in college basketball, it's a record that's going to be awfully hard to beat.

Interestingly enough, he grew up in Maryland, not far from where I grew up. Both of us were children of people in government service - his father was military, mine Department of Defense and we've both been to Okinawa. It's an odd feeling - a touch of nostalgia - to meet someone from that neck of the woods when I've left it far behind, both in distance and in time.

Les projects an old-fashioned graciousness and warmth and I suspect that aspect of his personality is what gets the races off to such smooth starts. Listening to parents compare him to other starters just reinforces the importance of the role that he plays - whether he knows it or not - to the community and to the athletes.

I also suspect that if you brought you his role, he'd tell you that it's all about the kids and the joy that they bring as they compete against each other and themselves. It certainly wouldn't be about Les and five decades of service to these youngsters. The Starter is that kind of man.

Making Decisions

People hate, hate, hate making decisions and will do almost anything to avoid having to do so. They find it so challenging that they will willing and enthusiastically allow others to make a decision for them. If you doubt it, wait until your spouse comes home from a hard day at work and ask him or her what they want for dinner. I bet the answer is....whatever, you decide. Anybody that is involved in sales recognizes this - the client who procrastinates on picking the house and wants to see one more listing, the car buyer who wants to try that red job at the corner of the lot that's almost exactly the same as the blue one he's sitting in, the child that can't make up her mind on which piece of Halloween candy she wants.

For the sales person, guiding this individual to a decision is part and parcel of the job. A good sales person will help you achieve your goal whether it's buying the right car (for me, the FJ Cruiser - a rig my wife still considers the second ugliest vehicle ever made) or what style to cut your hair. It's also a process that can be fraught with abuse if the sales person puts their interest ahead of the customer's.

Unfortunately, that doesn't work in most situations - there's no sales person to help you run every aspect of your life. And, in part, the way we live our lives is a problem. Many of us have careers that require us to make decisions, lots of them, every day. This process of making decisions wears us down.

They even have a name for it. Decision fatigue. It's real, documented in multiple studies and pernicious. Factor in the 24/7 nature of our world and the problem becomes enormous. The more decisions that you are required to make, the more fatigued you become and the actual quality of your decisions drops.

There are a couple of strategies to deal with decision fatigue that can be helpful.

First, for many routine things, right-size the amount of energy you commit to the process. Not everything was meant to be agonized about. Who you are going to spend the next 50 years with does not require the same level of intensity as whether to have dessert - or shouldn't.

Checklist can be handy and so can schedules. When I am doing an inspection, I maintain a mental checklist of all the things that I will be looking at and, in many cases, certain indicators lead to automatic responses. These trip wires relieve me of the constant decision-making process on something as simple as a drip from a faucet and allows me to focus on that odd crack in the foundation. Breakfast is a checklist item - eggs with tortillas or oatmeal with fruit, orange juice, coffee. I save the fancy breakfast decisions for Sunday morning when I'm relaxed and can dither over waffles.

Likewise, I set up a schedule to manage my decisions - which is why I've been writing at 2AM lately. It's on the schedule. I made a simple decision that I need to get more writing done. The problem is that I have a schedule that is totally swamped this month with cross country coaching two afternoons a week, helping with some of the meets, two training seminars on the far side of the state, a trip to Seattle for the Home Inspector Advisory Board and a trip to Spokane for the State Building Code Council meeting.

Somewhere in there, I have to work and make a couple of bucks to keep the lights on - plus, I like eating. So does the dog.

The solution was to build some dedicated time onto the schedule. Since I'm often up at 2AM anyway, I threw it on the schedule for writing. So far, I haven't needed an alarm and, by the time 4AM rolls around, I'm sleepy again. I grab another three hours of sleep and head for work.

Is it a long-term solution? I don't know. I doubt it but it is good enough for right now. Which is another technique to making decisions. Decisions fatigue often follows a desire to always make the perfect decision. Sometimes good enough is good enough. Save the perfect decision for the occasion that you really need it.

And remember the advice that your Mom gave you? To sleep on it and decide in the morning? Mom was right. You make better decisions when you're rested.

And now it's time for this sleepy guy to go to bed. I have lots of decisions to make tomorrow.

Xero Huaraches

Well, I've done my first couple of runs in my new Xero shoes - one on grass and two on the treadmill (ughh, I know, but it was 100 degrees outside and a skinny time window for getting a run in.) Advertised as "The closest thing to barefoot", they give you an incredible feel for whatever is under foot. I choose the 6mm Xero shoes (they have a thinner 4mm, too) and didn't notice much lose of sensation from FeelMax shoes.

The shoes are essentially the equivalent of huaraches and the videos for the manufacturing of the shoes (you can have them pre-made or make them yourself) shows the traditional lacing system. Surprisingly, the strap between the toes is absolutely unnoticeable when you walk or run.

The treadmill is was pretty boring so we'll move on to the grass. I wore them cross country practice -mainly to weird out the junior high runners I help coach - they really didn't believe I could run in them for any distance at all. On a 100 degree day they were much cooler on the toes and so light that I barely could feel them.

I did notice that I was much more mindful of obstacles such as an old stump in the middle of Chief Joseph Park. I also discovered I drag my toes as I folded the front end twice. No damage to toes on either occasion but interesting. I always like having something to improve on.

On the pavement to and from the park, I was nearly soundless which was encouraging. I keep teaching the kids that if they're making a lot of noise, they're wasting a lot of energy. Still, they are middle schoolers and growing so fast sometimes they aren't quite sure where their various limbs actually end.

All in all, very pleased with the early runs with the Xero shoes. I'll have to try some longer runs as I build up and see how they do with that. And, of course, winter is coming. That will be interesting, too.

Finishing Kick, Chapter One

Finishing Kick

The first chapter (unedited, so if you find errors, it won't hurt my feelings if you point them out) of my novel, Finishing Kick. Publication date is expected to be in December 2014 by Cruiser Publications, LLC.

As Callie crested the hill, the finish line appeared, lined with colorful flags – and then receded, as another girl thundered past.

Callie chased her on a gentle downhill slope, three hundred meters of fairway to the finish line of the State Championship. Through eyes hazy with exhaustion and the remnants of a cold, she could see her twin teammates, Anna and Hanna, sprint past the finish marker in a dead tie.

Two hundred meters to go and Callie could hear the gasping breath of another runner closing on her. Five strides later, the girl was beside her. Callie pumped her arms harder, willing her legs to move faster. Legs that could carry her for miles were failing now with the finish in sight.

Noise flooded both sides of the course and, penetrating over it, someone shouting her name. The cheers of the fans and coaches slid past her as she fought for position.

She saw the red singlet and slashing white diagonal as the last of the Fairchild Academy runners eased by her. Swearing, Callie leaned forward to gain momentum, rising up into a full sprint, her calves already starting to cramp, alternating with each foot strike, each spasm an opportunity to quit, to let the girl go.

Seventy meters and Callie still matched strides with the Fairchild girl.

At fifty meters, another girl caught both of them. She was a tiny runner from a small school up north, and  her breath came in sobs.

The three of them closed on the flags at the top of the finishing chute. Callie felt the agony of each breath as it exploded from her lungs, too little air for starving muscles. The blood pounding in her head drowned out the runners beside her, and Callie’s vision squeezed down to a small circle focused on the white line that marked the end. She could sense the presence of the runners next to her and drew on their struggling effort, seeking just a small advantage.

The sobbing girl finished one step ahead, the last sob a moan as she collapsed. Instinctively, Callie dodged the fallen runner as she lunged past the line, a half-step ahead of the Fairchild runner.

Relief and exhaustion mingled with joy but a small doubt blossomed.

Was it enough?

“You did okay.”

Callie, huddling to avoid the chill brisk breeze that snaked its way to her still sweaty skin under the Cloverland High warm-ups, looked over to Mark. The wind had been worse out on the course but there, movement generated heat. The twins, Anna and Hanna, were shivering under the blanket they were sharing, blond heads touching as they all waited for the results.

“Not good enough,” she said, feeling the echo of the final kick, legs heavy with lactic acid overload, girls passing her on the long straightaway to the finish line.

Mark shifted to his other foot. “You don’t know that yet.” Sweat, bobbing on a lank of hair, dripped off. Mark still had not put on sweats after running his own race, his broad shoulders and legs exposed to the wind. An inch over six feet, he towered over the girls on the team.

Callie kept her face impassive, looking toward the microphone stand, waiting to find out whether they had made it or not.

“I mean, with a cold and all…”  Mark shifted uncomfortably back to his original foot. “You did great.” He trailed off as Callie kept her eyes on the awards table. Lined up were the trophies for the top four teams and medals for the top eight finishers.

She was listening but between the head cold and the gnawing sense she let down the other girls, his words were just washing over her. Idly, she thought it was nice that he was trying to cheer her up. He was a little on the weird side but a nice guy. Feeling a sneeze coming, she searched her pockets and found a tissue.

There was activity up front and Callie’s attention sharpened. She put the used tissue, folded, back into her pocket.

“Finally!” said Anna. They watched the announcer, a slightly overweight man, make his way to the microphone beside the podium. The podium, a broad white stand with a pyramid of steps numbered one to eight, was the goal. Callie and the rest of the team unconsciously closed ranks, pressing up to the rope that separated with winner’s space at reviewing stand. The top four teams got to the stand. Cloverland was close, closer than they had ever been.

The official photographer, camera resting at her hip, waited for the teams to be called up, one at a time, to the stand for its brief moment of recognition. She shot the picture quickly, and the next team filed onto the stage, everything organized with impersonal precision. The winning team, the champion, was allowed to linger for a few extra moments. It was on the schedule.

“Thank you athletes and parents for your participation in the Washington Interscholastic Athletic Associations’ State Cross Country Meet. The individual results for the Division 1 Girls Race are as follows…” He proceeded to read through the top eight finishers with each runner taking her place on the stand as her name was called.

Jenessa, her teammate, also a junior, had placed eleventh overall, easily the best finish ever for a Cloverland runner. The two seniors on the team were standing at the rope, staring at their last chance to stand on the podium, a reward for the years of work they put in.

Two Fairchild runners were among the eight. One was a senior and she stood there on the third place block. The other, Roxanne, a junior, placed seventh. She and Jenessa ran together for the first two and a half miles before she dusted Jenessa heading into the finish. Callie frowned when she saw Roxanne glaring at Jenessa. Not a very good winner, she thought.

They finished with the top runner, who had qualified on her own, then went out and outran the entire field. She was a junior too and had already accepted a spot at the West Regional at the Footlocker Invitational next month. If she did well there, she’d be racing in San Diego in December. It was a select group, runners who had both the talent and the work ethic to excel. Callie wished she had the talent.

Watching the diminutive runner accept the first place medal, Callie thought it had to be a lonely feeling, running as an independent, racing without a team. There was a bit of steel in that girl that was missing in most of the runners.

“And now for the team results…”

Callie felt light-headed and realized she was holding her breath as the pudgy man ran down through the results. The tension was growing for all of them. The seniors had their arms wrapped around each other’s hips.

“In sixth place, with a score of 183, Winston…”

“In fifth place, with a score of 102, Cloverland…”

The team deflated. Little sighs combined into a collective groan as the girls realized that, once again, they were one step shy of getting onto the podium. Months of hard work got them to State but it wasn’t enough to get them into the top four.

One of the senior wiped a tear away. There was no ‘next year’ for them.

“In fourth place, with a score of 101, Asotin…” The Asotin fans cheered and the team made their way up onto the podium and had their picture taken, and then they were herded off.

One Point! Callie thought. Just one point, realizing that the place she had given away to the sobbing girl at the end of the race was the difference between a fifth place ribbon and the seniors standing on the podium.

The third place team, followed by the second place finishers, took their place in order but Callie wasn’t paying attention any more. A guilty mantra…one point….…one point….echoed through her mind.

Finally, the winning team, Fairchild Academy, was announced. The Fairchild girls were strong runners and their team had not lost any meet – not even the big invitational in Oregon - in more than three years. It was their fifth consecutive championship.

The Fairchild team took to the podium, laughing as they climbed the steps. They goofed around getting settled while the photographer waited impatiently. As the camera came up, they struck a pose, five fingers of their left hands up, the forefinger of their other hand pointing toward the crowd as they laughed.

There was a murmur from the crowd and Callie felt the flush of anger. She looked to the seniors. They had both stiffened at the implied insult. Jenessa looked grim and even the twins were taken back. It wasn’t just Roxanne – the whole team was a bunch of poor winners.

Mark shook his head slightly. He was standing right next to Callie and he watched her flinch when the results were announced. She was busy blaming herself, he thought, even though she was still getting over a killer cold that had kept her from running for two weeks before the district meet.

Girls, he thought, are aliens. Guys knew that you had to go for it. If you won, you were the hero. If you didn’t, if you blew up, you were a hero returning on his shield. Winner either way. Girls didn’t get that…

He watched the misbehavior of the Fairchild team and saw Callie cheeks flush red, almost as red as the nose she kept wiping. He glanced down at her face, studying it, auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail and vivid green eyes when another random thought bounced around, then out and surprised him, “…kind of a cute alien, though.”

Finishing Kick

Copyright © 2013 Paul Duffau

The Secret to Getting Appointed to State Commissions

I've discovered the secret to getting appointed to State Commissions. First, build a good reputation.

Second, volunteer to work for free, preferably at the tasks that no one else wants to do but that provide benefits to the community.

Third, get appointed to continue to work for free, still doing tasks no one else wants to do, keep providing value.

Fourth, do a good job.

More appointments will follow.

Note that nowhere in there did I mention making money. You might make money (honestly, that is - if you get on boards because you're expecting bribes, you ought to be thrown in the slammer) or you might not. Or not in ways that you expect. Life can be funny.

Something to think about for Monday.

Ps. It has worked for me. I'm a member of the State Home Inspector Advisory Board and a member of the State Building Code Council. The second one came from the first, a result of being effective and fair while we re-worked a few rules.

Asotin Island Run

The first meet of the year for the Asotin teams - the Asotin Island Run - runs on Chief Timothy Island in Clarkston, Washington on September 14th.

The course is short of the full 5K distance used for championship meets which is a definite advantage early in the season when the kids are still working on fitness. Tim Gundy, the head coach at Asotin, set up the race in 2007 and it's become a regional favorite for small schools with teams coming down from Moscow, Idaho and up from Enterprise, Oregon.

The course for the high school does a pair of laps - a shorter 1 mile loop along the west end of the island that returns the runners to the start line then sends them on a longer 1.6 mile loop. Two-thirds of the course is on dirt track and has small rolling hills. The backside of the big loop does have one short hard climb. The junior high teams - and there is usually a good turnout here as well - runs just the longer loop.

The race finishes under the trees of the park and there is plenty of grassy space for the teams to spread out under the shade. Many teams take advantage of the water and splash in the river before loading up and heading home.

Spectators are always welcome and there is usually good crowd to cheer the runners on.

More info on the Asotin Island Run can be found at athletic.net

Dreamtime

The Australian aboriginals have a creation story that revolves around the idea of Dreamtime, a period when mythical heroes walked the formless land and imbued it with sacred properties. My version of Dreamtime isn't nearly so profound - it happens, with regularity, from about 5 a.m. and 7 a.m. This is when I get the best sleep and have my most vivid dreams - dreams that often help me resolve a storyline problem or gives me a whole new emotional framework - I don't want to say idea because it isn't thought out. The dream is emotional and felt, and the deeper the feeling, the more compelled I get to put it on the list of 'to be written.'

The aboriginals built a complex set of rules and beliefs around the dreaming. When a child is born, he becomes a custodian of the land of his birth. His elders teach him the stories and songs of that place. Part of his education teaches that each thing is connected to the land and to the other things - making no difference if the thing is living or not, galah or granite, human or a clump of needle sharp spinifix.

I get this feeling in a second place - when I run and it's going right. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi termed it flow but (I think) he meant it as an inward turn where concentration and task met in harmony. This is similar but different in that awareness flows out and embraces everything and feels, quite irrationally, like it touches the whole world. I don't mind the irrationality - I can live with it as the cost of the feeling.

It may be that my version of Dreatime is different from the aboriginals' - but I'll wager less different than you'd expect given the chasm of cultural differences.