The Velvet Hammer™ -

Am confined to hotel room.  Prepping for trial tomorrow.  Sniffling.  At about 10:30 pm decide to go clear away the fog.  The gym is open 24/7.  Change into gear.  Give one good last blow and head downstairs.  Turn on the lights.  Utter peace.

This is my time to let my mind roam wherever it wants.  Michael Jackson on the ipod.  The Olympics on TV.  Am watching the high jumpers.  About a mile into the run, the door opens.  A minx with shaggy (wet) blonde hair tosses her room key onto the treadmill next to me.  I sigh at the noise she makes and try to ignore her. 

Peg her at ten. In an orange romper.  Bare feet.  She turns the machine on and begins to jog.  Slap slap slap go her feet.   I estimate she’ll get bored after three minutes.  She makes it to a little over one.  Then she goes off to the cycle.  And I turn back to the business of breathing in the case.

Thump.  She bounces back on the treadmill.  Begins pushing buttons.  Where the heck are her parents.

It works better if you wear sneakers, I say.

How long have you been here.

How fast are you going.

What are you listening to.

What channel is that.

Michael Jackson is trying to drown her out but fails.  It’s my fault for paying attention to her.  I answer the questions.

If I go get my shoes will you work out with me, she says.

Hmm, I think.  She’ll go back up to her room and her parents will tell her it’s time to get ready for bed.

Sure, I say.  I’ll work out with you but first you need to get your shoes.

She’s back in five.

For the next twenty minutes she walks, runs for portions of a minute, steps off, gets back on, and pushes  buttons up and down.   Gets water, grabs a towel.  Watches the Olympics.  Asks about the Olympics.  Wants to know where the headphones are.  Tries to read her heart rate.  At one point, she gets off her machine, comes to my right side and is actually standing on the stationary edge of my treadmill.  As I’m running.  She lifts my ipad up off the console so that she can read my statistics. 

The women’s uneven bars are now being featured on t.v.  How do they do That.  I remember being forced to get on those bars in junior high P.E.  Basically could do a circle with my tummy touching the low bar.  Hands grasping the bar so tightly that blisters form.   Realize the room is silent.  The little golden sprite is gone. 

The run winds down.  Walk up the stairs.

 Even though the nose has started dribbling again.  Despite more work to be done.  The little girl has covered me in fairy dust.  And I am smiling.

On the treadmill.  Ipod filling my head with music.  Reading the kindle.  Overhead a basketball game is on TV.  The water from Puget Sound alternates between looking stormy and shimmery as the weather tries to make up its mind.

Am in Zen like happy zoned out place.  Have been going for about half an hour.  On this chilly Sunday afternoon. 

A man gets on the treadmill to the right.  That's fine.  The gym is large and the equipment is nicely spaced apart.

Am blissfully travelling nowhere (which is the point), when the man yells out: Come on!  Interrupting my flow.   Jeez, that basketball game must be a good one.

Come on!  He shouts again.  Wow.  Obviously his team is losing. COME. ON!  I look away from the kindle up at the screen. It's a Unisom commercial.  As in the sleep aid.

This is when I realize, am running next to a dreaded treadmill screamer.

At my former gym on the plateau, this came in the form of a man who sync'd his stride with a loud percussive whistling noise.  I think through his teeth.    He was so loud all of the rest of us would do whatever we could to try to be on the other side from wherever he was.  To no avail.  It pierced us.

This all goes through my mind as the man to the right yells.  Suppose I can get off and move over.  But was here first.

COME! ON!!!  He yells. 

I sneak a peak.  He's been going for about ten minutes.  Hopefully he's only running a quick mile or two.  But it is not meant to be.

For the next twenty minutes, he huffs.  He puffs.  He groans and moans.  And most seriously - he berates himself.   Oblivious to the rest of us.

I've heard of motivational sports psychology.  But This.  This I haven't heard of before.

He is his own personal trainer.  Chanting COME ON.  Come OOOON.  COME on.  Punctuated with all sorts of grunting noises.  At one point (and I swear am not exaggerating) he is yelling Come On to each beat of his feet.

It is so awful that I start giggling.  Which causes me to miss a stride and almost tumble off the machine.

Turn up the ipod, but it is no use. 

This is where the mind decides to make a game out of it.  Okay.  He's trying to outlast me.  Trying to get me to give up first.  This of course  results in me running a mile longer than originally intended.  There's no way am giving up no matter how loud he yells.  And it does get louder.  A giant crescendo as he pushes himself to the limit.

Then finally, yay.  I win.  He has to get off the treadmill while I still carry on.  Quietly.

Not that he notices.

Photo of my treadmill at Rain Fitness.  Got off to take the picture for this story.  Then got back on.

Am so excited to run in Central Park.  Can hardly stand it.

Out the door of the Hilton, to the left and according to the concierge, will run straight into the park.   It is gorgeous, barely muggy out and very sunny.  Weave in and out of the people strolling down the street.  Give in to peer pressure and jaywalk/jog terribly until arrive at the massive green belt.   Need to get inside.  Way is blocked by busload of Japanese tourists.  And a lineup of horse drawn carriages.  Make it inside.

But wait what is this.  New York must be the fittest place ever in the entire world.  There are hundreds – probably thousands of people running.  Am swept up with them.  How extraordinary.  How marvelous.  How…

Realize they are wearing numbers.  Have stumbled into the middle of a race.  Okay, the end of the race as am with the stragglers.  They aren’t moving much faster than I.  Still, how cool is this.

We run together but in our own little Ipod separated worlds.  Sure is hot out.  Occasionally, check watch which is four hours and five minutes off.  One hour off because daylight savings time kicked in (several times).  Three more off because of the time difference.  Five minutes because do not know how to operate the watch.   Have given up trying.  Figure this is a good way to exercise math avoidant brain. 

 Run at a fairly steady pace thanks to many years of treadmill activity.  We are on the big perimeter road which should be a loop of around six miles.  Pass a pool, a baseball diamond, tennis courts, a little lake, various swing sets.  When realize.  Um.  Have seen this structure before.  Maybe.

Look at watch.  Minus four hours five.  Debate in mind whether to keep going or pull over and figure out where I’m at.  Keep up the debate for a while.  Nothing looks familiar.  There are no signs that help.  No mile markers.  No nothing.  Apparently should have paid more attention to landmarks before went into the park.  Debate ends.  Definitely did something wrong.  Run out of the park at the next exit.  Turn to the right and run back which may be right.  Then again, may not be.  After about ten minutes  give up pretense of being cool hip New York jogger.  Have to ask someone.   Determined not to ask the hot dog guy.  Decide to tag the runner coming towards me.   Where the heck is 6^th.  Oh.  The other end of the park.  Turn back around.  Run back (the other way).  Too many people are out now on the sidewalks.  Go back into the park.  Wonder.  Which way is really the right way.  Put thought out of mind.

Become enveloped within the Zen of the moment.  Try not to go down the path of anxious predictions of doom.  Finally reach point where have been told to exit.  Catch self debating whether this is the right decision or not.  Exit anyway.  And voila!  Have escaped  Central Park.  Now, back to hang with all the AAJ lawyers.

Take two right turns out of the hotel.  My breath catches.  Am facing the capital building.  Smile hugely.  Techno music on the ipod.  The sun is shining and it is muggy.  Negotiate the sidewalks and cross streets.  Arrive at the Capital Mall. 

Reminds me of the big track around the Tour d'Eiffel.  The vast open spaces are great for running.  Try to get lost but can’t because the monuments are everywhere.  Like giant compass markers.  The Washington Monument is the first one in line.  It is tall, white, solid, symmetrical.  Massively Pristine.  Run around it, looking up but decide better keep eyes on the ground.  Lots of ruts in the path.

Groups of students congregate and wander around.  Each group wears the same colored t-shirt.  Tourists with cameras snap memories. 

Arrive at a small fake lake/large fake pond.  It is vivid green with algae. Ducks and geese waddle around with their new babies.  The sound of machinery interrupts the fairly quiet mood.  A block size portion of the grounds has been denuded.  Maybe it will be another monument.  Think on that for a while as traverse the unassuming but poignant Vietnam War Memorial.  Wonder if one will be built for our never ending war in the Middle East. 

Run this way and that due to detours from sidewalks being closed to accommodate whatever they are doing to the grounds.  Am at the Lincoln Memorial.  Run up the stairs like Rocky.  Stop midway – sign says no running.  Walk up the rest of the way and have to pause and take it in.  This is the best, the most human and hopeful of the memorials.  Sign be danged, run down the stairs.

Loop around the fake lake/pond.   Am thinking about the symbolism of the memorials and realize – how peaceful and quiet everything is.  Why so orderly in DC.  Compare it to Paris – roving army soldiers with their oozies out.  Hawkers taking up half of the sidewalk space – shouting over each other to make a sale.  Realize – no guns or hawkers here.  A quite nice formula actually.

Have handy pocket size running map from hotel but don’t need it due to Monument Compass.  Make it back without getting lost.  A first.

Right through the side door, left at the street and another quick left on the outside of the hotel property line.  That way I don't have to run through the pool sunbathers.  Turn right and run along the boardwalk hugging the side that is sometimes covered in shade.  There's not much of a wind and it is mid afternoon.

The people are fairly colorful.  In all ways.  Kids with bright tatoos.  Tourists bedecked in loud attire.  I especially like the women wobbling on the bricks in sky high heels. I see a few in boots which makes no sense at all since it is 80 degrees.  However, the most ridiculous costume award goes to the woman wearing the fur vest over her swimsuit and Uggs with the Chanel purse.

Dogs are very little.  I almost step on a teeny white chihuahua that springs too close to my feet.  There's a man with a bright blue guitar.  Roller skaters weave their legs into quick figure eights as they race through red or yellow cones placed apart at perfect intervals on the pavement.  My favorite runner is a man in shiny green shorts over black fishnet stockings with a multicolored tucked in nylon shirt.  He runs on his toes.  Which is kind of cute.

The boardwalk veers to the right.  This is the channel where the enormous cruise ships float out to sea.  They look like giant icebergs with windows.  People sit on an unnaturally green hilly lawn and wave as they go by.  Rented sedgeways outnumber the bicyclists.  No one wears a helmet.

I pass a restaurant.  There are two cats that roam around - a gray tabby and a black one with green eyes.  They are totally nonchalant.  Don't appear to be bothered by any of the small dogs that yip at them.  I dodge the waiters who traverse the boardwalk which links the kitchen to the diners who sit at tables with kaki colored umbrellas. 

Come to the marina.  Some of the yachts are pretty big.  All of them are pristine.  Watch the people rent jetskiis and buzz off.  Take a left up the pedestrian part of the bridge over the channel.  It is loud, dirty and ugly as the cars rush by.  I just want to get to the crest so I can turn around and look at the spectacle of the boats and aqua blue underneath me.  Turn around and run back.

This time when I get to the main part of the beach, I stay on the sand.  There is a little breeze but no shade.  My shoes are coated in white.  It is much quieter here.  I see a pelican come in for a landing.  Something about its giant beak makes me so happy.  Probably a left over childhood memory from a fairy tale. 

People lie on towels in the sand or on chairs laid out by hmm, what's the politically correct name for cabana boy.  I can see some of the layerouters are toasted to an uncomfortable shade of red. It's amazing that they can't seem to feel the pain of their burns because they just continue to lay out there. 

I arrive back at the hotel. De-sweat.  Head out to the PanAmerican Art Projects Gallery.  And get lost in a sea of paintings.

(Pictured is Janda in one of the backrooms of the gallery).

It rains almost two inches over the weekend and we are set to hunker down for a dreary fall, when voila.  Beautiful weather appears out of nowhere.  The days are getting shorter and I know my favorite run is almost at an end - soon it will be treadmill winter for me.  I have to time it perfectly.  Check the precise moment of sunset on the internet, yank myself away from work a few minutes too late, and set off.

Out the office door with Nala.  Headphones in, black baggy in pocket next to peanut butter niblets (i.e. bribes).   We turn left and run about a quarter of a mile down the road then up the gravel path inside of the SAM sculpture garden.  Sometimes the pebbles get kicked into my shoes, but today the ground is still a little damp so no worries.  We pass couples strolling, tourists snapping pictures, tinker toy looking structures, the giant red metal iconic figure, and pull a u turn back down the ramp onto the trail that runs along Myrtle Edwards Park.  http://www.seattle.gov/parks/park_detail.asp?ID=311.

Nala is being not exactly bad but isn't so great either.  She has the dreaded leash aggression.  This means as cute and petite as she is, she acts like a big bad wolf around other dogs.  Every time we come upon a fellow canine, she starts yanking on me, jumping and twisting like she's doing acrobatics on a trampoline.  I run with her leash threaded around my waist so this means she's squeezing the breath out of me. 

She doesn't like vinegar water so at one point I thought of filling up a water gun and spraying her to make her behave.  But I figured the spectre of me running with a plastic water gun - even if pink and purple - probably was not a great idea.  So I went on the internet which suggested diverting attention.  This brings us to the treats.  I call her name, wave the treat and she's torn.  Do I jump after the dog or do I go for the treat.  Usually it's the treat but on a day like today, my regular few pieces aren't enough.  There's an entire zoo of dogs out here.

With the occasional pause for bribery and doodoo issues, we run along the trail.  There are two separate paths.  One for peds the other for cyclists.  We are right on the waterfront.  Some people walk down the rocks onto the shoreline.   The view is extraordinarily gorgeous.  The water is sparkling.  The Olympics are clearly outlined.  We pass the grain storage thingymajiger that barges pull up to and unload their wares into.  It's quite ugly really, but I think it's designated as a historic landmark.  Today there's no ship docked.  We pass the fishing pier, the little tackle/convenience kiosk and come to another pier where fishing vessels are moored (cruise ships park there too but  are done for the season).  The trail is really nicely maintained up to this point.  But then the Myrtle part ends and it converts to a single lane  that winds through the train yard.  It always smells like cooking oil back here.  I have no idea why.  Crisco actually.  There are stairs leading to an overpass.  A man has made a nice little home under there.  I see him sometimes sitting in his easy chair reading a book.  I used to be scared of him.  But he pays us passersby no attention.

This is the messy part of the run.  There's garbage that floats in from the trains.  I think this is part of the port's property that they allow us to use as a trail.  It would be nice if they cleaned it.   There's no great view back here, but it serves it purpose.   We come to a fork.  You can go straight along the railway for a bit longer before it turns into a major arterial.   This is one of my wishes.  I wish they would build a link for this trail so that you could get to Discovery Park safely.  Instead if you go straight, you are running or biking right on a major road.  No thanks.  So I veer left. 

Now, in order to do this, it has to be daylight.  I push it sometimes and then get scared and turn around.  The path winds along the bottom of Magnolia hill.  On the one side is a vast parking lot/shipping storage area.  Usually there is a field of audis or vws parked out there and no one works after five.  So it is very quiet on this trail.  On the other side, is the hill.  No houses in sight.  Vast undergrowth of blackberry bushes, ivy, weeds and trees.  This is one of the places where I imagine bad vampires or other horrid things springing out to get me.  Thankfully Nala is here and she wards off the evil spirits.  Still, I wouldn't want to run here in the dark.  There's an older man who drives up here in a green station wagon.  He used to scare me too until I realized what he was doing.  He's made little huts out of scraps of timber and old aquariums apparently for stray cats.  He has bowls out that catch water for them.  I've never seen a cat in one of the little houses.  But they must live there.

We run along this quiet trail and see only the occasional traveler, when we emerge back out onto a little road that winds its way back to the waterfront.  This is my special treat for making it this far.  A true joy.  We are at a marina filled with boats.  I run and look out at the water and instead of seeing the channel leading to the ocean, I'm now looking back over the sound so the city is on my left, Mount Rainier is in the middle, and to my right is more open ocean and the Olympics.  The mountain rises up over the commercial district outlined with these big red mechanical things that unload cargo.  I'm not sure what they are called in real life.  To me, they look like the giant metal robot giraffe looking monsters from the Star Wars movies.  We run up to the Restaurant (Pallisades), turn around at the circle and then head back.

We move a little faster because the sun is setting.  Clouds are dappled in the sky which makes it more beautiful than usual.  Everything is tinged in raspberry tangerine sherbert.  Mount Rainier is front and center.  It is begining to fade.  It looks like a pink ghost.

When I was a kid, we lived on a hill and could see the mountain from our kitchen window.  I spent hours and hours imaging that mountain erupting.  I had an evacuation plan figured out.  I knew its precise distance away from us.  I calculated how long it would take for lava to travel so far.  I felt we were fairly safe because we were uphill and lava might not flow quite so far upwards.  I read everything I could about volcanos.  To this day, I still am not sure if Mount Rainier has erupted in my lifetime or not because I've imagined it so vividly.

I'm pulled back into reality because I can't breathe thanks to Nala lunging after another poor doggie.  Bribe her with a pretend treat, but she doesn't go for it.   The sun is setting.  I make it back to the sculpture garden before they close it off.  Run back along the road, cross the street and am back at my office.

I love this run.

Hempfest - Seattle's Ode to All things Marijuana - clogs up the park I want to run through Sunday afternoon.   So I decide to try Discovery Park.   I would actually like to run to it, but there is no trail leading into it.  By now you will have noticed my running pattern involves avoiding streets.   What's wrong with streets?  Hmmmm.  Being hit by a car is the number one reason.  But also, I don't like having to turn up my ipod all the way to drown out the car noise.  Plus inhaling the exhaust fumes mentally (if not physically) defeats the goal of enhancing health.  Plus I don't want to get hit by a car.  Nala either.

The 500 plus acre park is on the peninsula of Magnolia.  http://www.cityofseattle.net/parks/Environment/discovparkindex.htm.  The miracle of so much park land being so close to the heart of the city, lies in it having been Fort Lawton in a prior life.  There is a 2.8 mile loop that I plan on travelling a couple of times.  Off I start with Nala.

We transition from paved parking lot to a mainly dirt imbedded with gravel path that winds its way up and down through pristine heavily wooded areas.  I am immediately transported back to my childhood.  We grew up just outside of Lake Forest Park in North Seattle.  We lived on a hill that was sparsely constructed upon because: it was quite a hill.  There were ravines and bluffs and we were always hiking, up, down and around them.  There were lots of kids in the neighborhood.  We were constantly spying on one another, having blackberry fights, and pretending to live in the trees.  I even remember there being heavy vines that we could swing upon to fly from one big tree branch to the other.  No wait - I think that was from a Tarzan movie.  Regardless, as I enter Discovery Park I am back in my childhood.

There is one unique consequence, in particular, of living on a big hill.  You have to go up it.  You have to go down it.  Discovery Park is no different.  There is not a single area of that path that is a flat straight of way.   It is also quite dark because the trees form an almost total canopy.   I'm keeping my eyes out for tree roots, and letting Nala pull me along.   There are more than 11 miles of trails, but that means getting off the loop.  I do this (unintentionally) several times.  Thankfully it is not hard to find your way back because there are marker posts every several hundred feet.   The trails I don't like are those that are so steep that there are wooden beams forming stairs.  At one point, I'm midway down an entire hillside of them when I think - Forget that!  Back to the loop.

As I'm huffing up a long steady incline I can see glimmers through the trees.  We shoot out onto a flat grassy meadow that has a breathtaking 180 degree view of the Sound and Olympic Mountains.  There are approximately seven people looking at the tableau.   I'm thinking, why is it that a park like this is so empty.  I guess one purpose of a park is to preserve land.  But another purpose is to allow the millions of people that live in the region access to a place that connects them to the natural world that we live over.   I think perhaps it is a bit of a conspiracy.  The residents don't want their streets clogged.  They get to have their own private ginormous, awesome park.  The government preserves land without having to worry about people significantly utilizing it.  What a shame that more people don't discover the joys of this amazing park.  Of course there is always a positive side.  Nala is being especially good because there are so few opportunities for her to engage in doggie road rage.

In search of food at the President's Reception

I fly with my eldest daughter, Cristina, into Redmond OR. I do this not only because I have been dreading the seven hour drive, but because I was scheduled to start a trial in Idaho on Tuesday. Trial settled a few days ago but lucky us, the airplane company doesn't believe in refunds.

We drive up to our condo which Cristina dubs - The Tree House. It looks like Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother's shingled cottage but not in a particularly good way. The carpet is grayish green. The furnishings and linens are immaculate but circa 1970s. The most fascinating room is the bathroom. The green glowing walls are graced with a wall paper border of scampering chipmunks and bunnies. The shower stall is paneled in wood. Cristina says - is this a joke - and she jumps in to show me that the shower head is situated just below her chin.

We hustle out the door. It is 85 degrees. She heads off to the pool first dropping me at "The Homestead" which is our meeting place. The only reason I am going into a windowless lodge at 2:15 pm, is because David Wenner is speaking. If he was in a Disney cartoon, pearls and precious gemstones would be floating out of his mouth. He (along with Greg Cusimano) developed AAJ's jury bias model. I'm a confessed groupie and belong to their AAJ jury bias litigation group. I pay homage for a few hours. I wish someone could invent a convention room where we could be on treadmills or ellipticals or bikes, or on yoga mats. I really have a hard time sitting still even when someone great is speaking.

It is late afternoon and I go for a run. The bike/running trails are quite wonderous. It is very hot, but thanks to the shade from 100 foot Ponderosa Pines, it is quite bearable. My goal is to get back at 6 so that we can hustle to the President's reception. But as I run around, I stop paying attention and after awhile find that I am way off track. 2 chipmunks and a doe later, I'm back at the cottage. Cristina and I are ready in 10 minutes (nothing fancy thank goodness) and it is off to the reception.

Around the backside of the pretty lodge, out on the lawn, there are hundreds of attorneys and guests milling around. I greet Clare and our lovely WSAJ staff and say (jokingly) is there still food? To which they say (not jokingly back) um... no. What?! We are only after all an hour late. That's fashionable right? As we make our way back to where the food may or may not be we quiz our friends along the way. Did you get food? Is there still any? It takes 20 minutes to wind our way through the crowd and our hopes are dim so we're in no rush anyway. Finally we spy the tables. They are, well, they are pretty much empty except for the place where they still have a spit of meat they are cutting chunks out of which is not too appetizing for a vegetarian. So... we go back to chit chatting as we slowly wind our way back on out, into our car, and onwards to find some vittles.

Eventually the mission is accomplished and we return to our cottage. I go to look at tomorrow's schedule and realize, it's the awards luncheon. I am to present the Trial Lawyer of the Year award. Gerhard told me I have three minutes. I look through some records and lay out a few thoughts. I'm a very bad speech writer. When I was president, Gerhard used to sweat because he never knew what I would say. I need to "feel" what I'm saying. He would give me a nice little script. And I'd thank him and then say something completely different. Bet you're wondering who's going to get the award eh?

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I have to run in the morning which I don't like to do. But there's no other time I can do it so out the door I go, to the right. I'm in Pearland, TX. And it is 80 degrees at 8:30 am. I get about one block before the sweat starts. There is no wind. Just hot thick air that is moving only because I'm running through it. I'm in a planned unit development which means that I can run back and forth up and down and never really get lost because eventually I'll hit a fence that will take me back where I need to go. The street names are like: rosesprings, willowsprings, happysprings. Wishful thinking. Down the middle of the development there are small man made bodies of water with fountains and a few brown ducks. Mainly I notice the mosquitos who also notice me. There are nice little sidewalks that I run on, separating green lawns from the roadway. I find a house with its sprinklers' on. I run over and stick my hands in the water. Even the water is warm. I don't know where everyone is. I only see two cars pass the whole time I'm out there. Plus one other jogger and three people walking. As I run, I notice that there are little slugs that traverse the sidewalks from time to time. At first I assume they are dried up dead slugs but on further inspection I realize they are alive. In Seattle, our slugs are big fat slimy critters. Pearland slugs look like worms with antennas. They are probably so skinny because all their sweat has been drained out of them. I can relate!

Me and my sisters Susan and Debbie at Manhattan Beach

The sandy beach frames the ocean as I run along the boardwalk.  Past volleyball matches, people walking their pets and each other, rollerbladders, skateboarders, slow going bicyclists.  There are no motor noises.  No cars with the exception of an occasional police vehicle.  Just the sound of voices, the waves, and my headphones.  The houses are built as big as they can be - most are like big boxes within arms reach of one another.  At Hermosa beach, you have to run down a few stairs to re-connect with the boardwalk.  The cement is shinier.  Half the houses are carved up and rented out to college kids.  It is a big party zone.  Eventually you come to a wall which signals Redondo beach.  I'm not sure what I like better - watching the people, the ocean, or the weather.   This is one of my favorite places to run.

The last deposition ends around 4 and I run out the door.  Down the road across the bridge.  On one side of the river (where we've been) is Lewiston Idaho.  The otherside is Clarkston Washington.   I'm thinking that I will be running along the river, and I am.  But I'm on an elevated path, perched on top of a berm created for years when the river runs high.  It's  a low year so I'm tottering about 20 feet above the river bed.  Aside from one garter snake, two peter rabbits, some birdies, 3 bikers and 1 other jogger, the trail is deserted.  Where is everyone!   I go past the stinky pulp plant (Lewiston side), turn around and go past the "Port of Clarkston" complete with a river barge positioned under a ramp coming out from a big silo.  There are a few boats with people fishing but they ignore me as I pass by.  I know nothing about the flora of the area but it looks like bramble bushes, dried up long grass, and the type of yellow weedy flowers that I used to be allergic to when I was a kid.  Sorry, but it is not exactly spectacular.   What I like best are the hills that the towns are built into.  They stretch for as far as I can see, lining the edges of the river like a giant ruffle.

At the last minute the sun makes an appearance so I run out the doors of the Davenport Hotel and head towards the river.  Spokane has the wonderful "Centennial Trail" that winds its way from the city through Gonzaga to the out and beyond. As I jog into the country (well, it is country-like in places) I feel like little red riding hood venturing into the forest with all its little creatures.  I see robins, ducks, and these critters that look like big fat giant squirrels with tails  like bottle brushes.  I have no idea what they are.  I'm sweaty and happy as I head back through Gonzaga, looking at the swollen river and bopping to my music.  Out of the corner of my eye I see a large gaggle of geese on the lawn complete with a crowd of gosslings.  Oh how beautiful, I think.  I am one with nature!  At which point, a bit of something catches my attention.  It is the biggest goose of all, running flat out towards me with its beak open (apparently yelling at me but my music has drowned it out).  It is so close I can see down its throat.  Its eyes are sparkling with total hostility.  I am fueled with fear and bolt away from that mean goose.  I haven't run that fast since, well, I don't think since ever.