Laying out the kit...

Brooks Racer ST-4 shoes, broken-in just enough to be comfortable, not enough to risk getting them dirty. Brooks ID singlet, emblazoned with makeshift Tacoma Runners patch. Brooks Sherpa shorts, appropriately named for the epic journey ahead.

It's all about the kit, the one thing I can control about tomorrow's Tacoma City Marathon. Everything else is unknown. Did I train hard enough? Will I be able to get a decent night's sleep? Will it rain? Will I have to stop and poop at mile 13? Is this dull pain in my knee going to explode mid-run? The days leading up to a marathon are fraught with these worries.

Which is why I'm thankful for Lisa, my biggest supporter and race-day cheerleader, sewing on the club patch. This will surely be good for a 5 second-per-mile boost. Her mere presence somewhere out there on the course, good for another 10. When it really hurts tomorrow, I will think about how she accidentally sewed this singlet to the pillow underneath... and I'll smile.

Tomorrow I will regularly check my dad's old-ass Timex Marathon to see just how far I've fallen off my ridiculously lofty goal. I'll think about the miles it's seen, the splits it has frozen in time, and the man who wore it before me. And my struggles will seem small.

In a little over 12 hours, the gun will fire. Shortly thereafter, the anxiety that's prompting me to now scrutinize every aspect of my training, my nutrition (or lack thereof), and the tiny aches in my legs will... disappear. It will be a battle in which my only allies are a pair of really clean shoes, a singlet sewn with love, and a watch that transmits the energy and wisdom of a dozen marathons before.

It's all about the kit.

Brooks Glycerin 8: The First 300 Miles...

My Uncle Steve — a hot rod builder and car salesman since my earliest memories — has always said, "There's a butt for every seat." What this means, of course, is that my ideal ride might not be yours might not be your friend's grandma's. And so it goes with running shoes... finding the right one is a matter of test drives. With that in mind, here's my (300 mile) trip around the block with the Brooks Glycerin 8.

Let it be known that my baseline for this review is a "well-loved" pair of Asics, retired with 1,100 miles on the odometer. Advantage, new shoes. Also, it's well-documented that I'm suffering from False Rockstar Syndrome after acceptance to the Brooks I.D. program. Advantage, new shoes.

Disclosures having been disclosed...

I love these kicks! Just look at 'em. Right outta the box, fresh and clean and smelling... y'know, new! First impressions were entirely visual, and this is a good looking shoe (in my opinion, much better in the black/yellow colorway than its alternate blue/white version). Plus, yellow is fast. Everyone knows that. And while the tribal tattoo-ish details might not be for everyone, they've grown on me.

I started to examine the Glycerin's build and first noticed its short tongue. Many running kicks have a big, fluffy tongue that rises well above the laces when the shoe's tied. Spoiler alert! That extra pillow flopping over your rabbit-ears isn't doing anything! The next build feature that struck me was the Glycerin's "rolled" toe. The front of the shoe seemed to turn decidedly upward and forward. I quickly grabbed my Brooks Cascadia 4's for a comparison. Yep.

Ok, let's get out on the road! The very first time I laced up, my gut impression was, wait for it... ventilation! Ahhhhhhhh. The airflow through these shoes was (and continues to be) remarkable — appreciated on warm days and essential on long runs. Next was cushioning (I think I told my wife it was like running on clouds) and stability (the platform on the Glycerins is considerably wider than my Asics', but it has never felt clunky). Next was the effect of the rolled toe. Call it placebo, but I could feel myself being propelled forward.

300 miles in...

At this point, some runners are already thinking about their next pair of shoes. I say we're just getting to know each other! So, where do the Glycerins stand after daily lunch runs in the rain, weekend 20-milers... and the indignity of being stuffed into a messenger backpack alongside sweaty bike gear?

300 miles in, the Glycerins appear no worse for the wear. Save for some expected tread loss and residual cow poop (thanks, Montana), the shoes are as-new. No stitching has loosened, nothing has come unglued. The forward roll is a booster on long runs, and even seems to have helped "train" those biomechanics when I switch to racing flats. And that low tongue? I'm happy to report that there's has been no pinching or other discomfort. In fact, I've found it easier to dial-in lace tightness without the extra fluff. Wherever I set the knot, there it stays.

I've traveled with these shoes twice. In Montana, we kicked through 10 miles of icy dirt road (and splashed home through mud after the morning thaw). Traction was never an issue. In Reno, we explored 50 miles of unknown asphalt, trails, and red rock. Though the Glycerins are certainly not a trail shoe, they're definitely stable enough for short off-road jaunts.

In grand and glorious summary...

In my time with the Glycerins, I've found no gripes. They are good looking, comfortable, and confidence-inspiring on any surface. For me at least, the fit is so natural that I often forget the shoes are even there... and that's perhaps the ultimate testament. So, if you're a neutral striker looking for a stable trainer, I say put your butt in this seat for a test drive!

Have you run in the Glycerins? I'd love to hear your impressions in the comments.

Gear of the Year 2009

'Tis the season of lists. Top 10 albums, best movie, car of the year, least intellectually offensive reality tv series. And the outdoors publications will have their say, too. The year's must-haves will be comprised of predictable stuff: Shock-resistant plastic, microchips, carbon fiber, and Goretex... all of it packaged with sex and slick marketing. In short, it will be the stuff after which you and I will lust, but probably never hang in our garages.

So, I propose that the "little guys" of outdoors blogging make our own lists. What is the stuff you use every day that puts a smile on your face? The stuff you can count on. The stuff that has taken on meaning over the miles.

Here's mine...

Mid-90s Bianchi Reparto Corse Cyclocross
When I saw this bicycle on ebay a couple years ago, I knew it would be mine. As a frequent craigslister, I appreciate a well-crafted listing, and this guy had nailed it. New old-stock steel frame (handbuilt in Italy by Bianchi's racing department), lots of shiny bits by Shimano, Sugino, Nitto, and other "o" companies. It was not an informed purchase, and it could have gone horribly wrong. But this bike has carried me through 3,000+ miles and a season of cyclocross without falter. I swing my leg over at least twice a day and promptly forget about the bike. That's how you know you've got a good one, by the way.

My dad's old-ass Timex Marathon
It's been about a year since I rediscovered the run, a full eight months of which was done without solid-state electronics: Heart rate monitors, gps devices, or sharks with lasers on their heads. Regular readers of this blog (hi, Mom) know that I don't tend to pin my happiness on (or trust my well-being to) things that require batteries. But shortly after my first marathon last summer, I asked my dad how I could improve. "You need to run with a watch." Pssshaw. As if. "Here," he said, pulling the tired Timex from his dresser-top box. The old man was right. I wore it on my second marathon, paid attention to my splits, and ran a 17-minute PR. Now I wear it on every run (except when I know I'll be slow). It feels just right.

NEW(!) Pearl Izumi Shine Wind Mitt
Are you picking up on the vibe here? I don't buy much new gear. And when I do, it will be thread-bare and used-up before it's retired. Trust that you will have to pry these babies off my warm, dead hands. They're mittens when you need 'em, gloves when you don't. Genius! I totally couldn't afford this purchase, so I compensate by wearing them even when it's completely unnecessary. "Seems kind of cold in here.Be right back." C'mon... you do it, too.

My shoes.
Over a thousand miles of pavement will have passed underneath these shoes when I retire them after the holidays. That's a lot of mud, sweat, and beers. I always hear about people who toss their kicks every few months or few hundred miles. To them I say, you might be missing out on the best part. The part when the shoes slip on and lace up just right... quick, without fuss, like a NASCAR pit stop. The part where your foot becomes the shoe becomes the asphalt... becomes a joyful run. Yes, they're done. Completely cooked. Coming apart at the seams and soles. And yes, I think I'll have them bronzed.

My shoes.
I was pretty sure I'd hit the big time when Brooks Running sent me a new pair of Cascadia 4 trail shoes to test. Million-dollar endorsement deals would surely not be far behind. I promptly set out to try 'em on the proving grounds of the Puyallup River dirt... and then proceeded to not run trails again all year. But I have worn these beauties as my everyday shoe, well... every day. Call me an old man, but the Cascadia's have shown me the way of the practical, comfortable shoe. Maybe next year I'll buy the 5's and see if they can actually hold a corner on loose gravel.

On getting lost...

The current Outside Magazine gives readers a paragraph from each of several dozen adventurers on why they do what they do. Flipping through the oft-predictable variations on "because it's there", I stopped on page 82, which I read several times. Doug Peacock, American wild man and author of "Grizzly Years" offered this bit of wisdom:

"Don't just bang down the trail thinking about your girlfriend or your stock portfolio. Go like another animal. All of a sudden you're part of an ancient system again. And after four or five days, something happens. You're part of the original landscape, a far older, more faded world."

This got me thinking about my own reasons for exploring. About the day I tried hiking with my mp3 player, then quickly put it away. It felt strange to be shutting-out. I wanted to hear the birds scattering, to get lost in the rhythm of my boots on the soft carpet of the trail. Peacock continues:

"If you're comfortable with yourself, go solo. Solitude is the deepest well I know, and it's your right to drink from it. And no GPS devices; the opportunity to get lost on today's planet is a privilege."

Ironic that the page opposite this quote displays a glossy ad for the DeLorme Earthmate, and compels adventurers to "get serious".

I would never suggest that everyday adventurers travel the backcountry without the knowledge and skills to survive. And it's tough to defend hikers whose irresponsible actions require costly and troublesome search-and-rescue.

But do we need trekking poles, $300 boots, and the latest GPS device every time we step out the door? Or are all these doo-dads and gadgets just getting in the way of a deeper relationship with our planet, and preventing us from losing ourselves in a more "ancient system"? And what of all the cast-off plastic and electronic detritus?

I realize there are no "right" answers.

As for me, I don't run with a watch or bike with a computer. The charts and graphs of my small adventures are secondary to the sights, sounds, and feelings. Doug Peacock's idea of "being connected" is far more appealing to me than the modern, technological definition.

How about you?