UO Noon Runners

Confessions of a Skirter 2

2008-09-09T08:35:00.000-07:00

Devil’s Lake Parking Lot: Thirteen of us arrive at Devil’s Lake for the 2008 version of the Skirt Run. This is up from a record attendance of six last year. We have a ways to go before reaching Tour de France-type popularity, but at this rate next year we are gonna need a Forest Service Special Use Permit.

And we are Special. No doubt about that. The skirts run the gamut from way too short (Tom and Mark) to way too colorful (Rob’s flowery pink print and T-Mobile’s blue sequins). John P. wins the Most Disturbing Garment Award with a see-through blouse that left way too little to the imagination.

Devils Lake to Sparks Lake: We travel the pretty trail around Devil’s Lake, then expose ourselves, so to speak, for a couple of miles along the Cascade Lakes Highway. This stretch is dedicated to adjusting various straps, nervous twittering from the first timers, and T-Mobile waving to every passing truck with far too big a smile on his face.

Sparks Lake to Green Lakes: The trail up Fall Creek is absolutely beautiful. Charlie takes off like a bat out of hell and misses the photo op on the log across the creek. It takes three tries to get a picture because John P. can’t get the camera set up and make into the frame before the timer hits zero. Most of us are taking it easy over this stretch, telling stories of past escapades. Adjusting more straps. Some of us know what’s coming and the rest are wondering.

Green Lakes to Nowhere: Skirting Green Lakes, we take the trail to the ridge above and cue up for another photo op (this run is ALL about photo ops. Otherwise, who would believe it?). This one only took two tries because John didn’t have to negotiate his way through any brush to get into the picture. On the first try the camera fell off the rock.

At this point we leave the trail and the route falls to loose interpretation by a bunch of old guys with honeycomb for brains. I don’t trust any of them (because I am one) and start veering to the right, with T-Mob and Charlie in close pursuit. No one else is there. After awhile T-Mob says “Tom, I’m confused.” I think, “No shit you’re confused, you’re running around in the mountains in a blue sequin skirt.” What he really meant was “Tom, YOU”RE confused.” But that should have been obvious, too. Charlie is more direct, but I can’t print what he said. To make a long story short, I take us too far to the north and cost us a mile and hundreds of feet in elevation. We arrived at the lunch stop in the saddle between South and Middle Sister 25 minutes late. John Carter, J, and Tim (aka Da Navigator) are waiting there after leaving an hour earlier. I have just enough time to pump some water, shove food in my mouth, and pose for another photo. Everyone else looks disgustingly well-rested.

Nowhere to Pacific Crest Trail: We string out again running and walking the snow and scree through the Saddle to Chambers Lakes. John Carter goes so high to left that no one can see him at first. When they find out where he’s gone they start running the other direction so they don’t have to take any responsibility and go back to recover his broken body when comes down the really fast, unhealthy way. He’s my hero.

We hit the trail again in the Saddle. Bill plays Twenty Questions with a group of backpackers, trying to lead them to a rational explanation of why thirteen men are parading by in skirts. He’s a natural-born teacher, that guy is. The trail starts hard downhill toward the PCT. This is my least favorite part of the run because my Vitamin I is wearing off and the steep descent drives my ailing knees somewhere up around the vicinity of my hip sockets. Bill has to stop to make a deposit into the local nitrogen cycle, then all of us regroup at Red Bull Meadows for the traditional hit of energy drink. Half of us gripe about how lousy the stuff is, but there’s a lot of peer pressure to drink up when some of the guys have carried cans of that noxious stuff for 14 miles. Tim even had the temerity to bring Red Bull Lite--half the calories and all the bad taste. Rob had to tie Steve’s shoes for him (I’m thinking “No problem buddy, after all, you only have ten miles to go”) and he didn’t even look up his skirt. I eat one of John Carter’s mustard sauce sardines. I like sardines.

Pacific Crest Trail to Wickiup Plain (aka Plains of Doom): I’m running along minding my own business, trying not stare at anyone, and as near as I can tell I tripped over some dirt in the trail. Fortunately I land in some soft stuff that only took part of my skin off. I curl up in the dirt in a fetal position, and everyone behind me thinks I’m getting ready to die. All I'm doing was sucking enough air up around my diaphragm to swear appropriately. I mean real honest-to-god swearing, not just play around cussing. Travis helps me up, someone comments on my dirty skirt, and I take off fast down the trail trying to torch off some of the excess adrenalin.

The PCT winds through Mirkwood Forest with no views or obvious landmarks for miles. Travis, Bill, and I are running together, going hard down the hills and walking the small amount of uphill. Eventually the trail crosses a meadow with a pretty creek and I know there’s a mile or more of uphill coming up that ends at Wickiup Plain. We walk the whole thing. That sardine is lodged somewhere around my diaphragm, all the mustard sauce digested off, a fish reborn and trying to decide in which direction to swim.

Plains of Doom Time Trial (aka Time Trial and Tribulation): The three of us mill around at the beginning of Wickiup Plain trying to muster enough spunk for the traditional Mile Time Trial and Tribulation. There are several reasons for this insanity:we’re covering the hottest, dustiest part of the trail, it’s on the part of South Sister that has been bulging in recent years, and we are delirious masochists. This is not a piece of landscape that you want to hang around on. Especially in a skirt.

Charlie and John C. pass us while we’re dallying and Charlie hurls his most articulate insult of the day (it sounded a lot like “F__k you guys,” but I’m sure he must have done better than that). We take off. The Tribulation is downhill for about two minutes, then flat for a bit, then uphill, all with nothing but soft pummy sand underfoot. When we start up the hill Travis goes from full run to something even a walker would call a jog, all in the space of about 15 seconds (no offence Trav, but I’ll never again have the privilege of seeing you melt like that during an interval, especially running from behind you with that cute sarong on). Bill and I go hard for 8 minutes and I think he would have continued except that I start making gasping sounds and grabbing at my throat. We stop and I’m bent over with my hands on my knees laughing and gasping for air. Bill says it was fun.

Plains of Doom to Devil’s Lake: Bill and I stop at the trail junction before heading downhill for the last two and a half miles to Devil’s Lake. Charlie, Travis and John Carter catch up and I tell John how impressively he’s running. He doesn’t answer, instead giving me a disturbing sideways glance that I imagine a cougar gives a deer just before it rips out its throat and laps up its blood. Then he takes the lead and we’re all happy he’s up there where we can keep an eye on him. He’s definitely operating on another level now.

John sets a torrid pace, but eventually Bill and I go around him. Bill says “I just wanna to get this over with.” Yeah, I recognize that comment from last year. It’s runner code for “If you think you’re tired now, just wait until I run your sorry, skirted ass into the ground over the next two miles.” And he does. We are flying down that frickin’ boulder-strewn trail at under 7 minute/mile pace, leaping over and landing between the rocks, hoping to god there aren’t any surprises awaiting our foot plant. I can’t remember the last time I was in oxygen debt running downhill.

Finally we jog into the parking lot. The kick was worth it I guess. We finish in 7 hours and 29 minutes, an hour off our world record time of 6:26 a year ago. Still, we are at least as cute. I jog and walk back up the trail to cheer folks in. First Charlie, then John C. Travis hasn’t recovered from the Trial and Tribulation and is trying to use “The Secret” to visualize more glycogen into his muscles. Maybe it’s just me, but doesn’t look like it’s working. The rest straggle in, all in various stages of disrepair, some relieved, some euphoric. One more photo op. Then off to Elk Lake for a swim that was more of an ice bath. We refuel on Terry’s soup and Cristin’s brownies, all washed down with beers and John Carter’s excellent roll yer own pinot noir.

The quote of the day came on the drive home from none other than the Master Architect of this madness, Terry “T-Mobile” Froemming:

“It’s hard to imagine life getting any better.”

So true.

Dirty Genes

Confessions of a Skirter

2008-09-09T08:33:00.000-07:00

Why am I doing this? There are way too many zeros in my logbook this summer for me even to think about the skirt run. From May through August I averaged 21 mi/wk, and a lot of that was walking or biking. Great base. But one Saturday morning at the bakery and I’m sold. So here it is, 7 am at the Devil’s Lake parking lot, 32 degrees, and I’m stoked.

Tim and Jay and I head out and it’s soooo easy. We jog, we walk, we talk, and after awhile my hands have feeling in them again. Trout are rising in Green Lake as we go by. It still feels good but then it’s time to leave the trail and start scrambling. Why cannot I remember where we went wrong last year? It’s like my mind has erased the bad parts. Tim keeps saying the gps track is down there, but my mental track says up here. We can’t go too far wrong though, with the South Sister up there to the left. Which one is she: Faith, Hope, or Charity? Hope would be the middle, so it’s either Faith or Charity. It she’s Charity she must be sleeping. By the time I get it figured out and find the two lakes where we had lunch last year and where we’re supposed to meet the rest of this year’s troop, here they come. So we all get there together, never mind the fact that they started an hour later than we did. Well, not quite all together, there was the straggling trio of Tom, Terry, and Charlie, arriving a bit later due to Tom’s detour. Words were spoken.

Thank you Tom, for bringing your purifier. I only wish I’d let you fill my water bag clear full. He must’ve been down there at the lake shore for 20 minutes, filling water containers for most of the rest of us.

It was shortly after we left the lakes that I made my big blunder. Rob, Travis, Tom and I went a bit too far up a ridge. They all recognized their mistake and went back down to the trail. Me? I knew that not far ahead was a spot where we had to leave the trail and go up through a rock field, so I elected to stay up, go across a ridge, and head them off at the pass. What was in that sandwich? I got to the top of the ridge and looked down into a deep ravine, with the trail about a mile off to my right, down a few hundred feet, and barely visible. No, I can’t give in now, so it’s down a scree slope, across the snow, and up ridge number two. Repeat. By now I’m saying to myself, if you mess up now, it may be better if nobody finds you, you dork. Actual wording was somewhat bluer. After a couple more of these I emerged on a ridge, looked down, and saw tiny figures wending their way on the trail where I should have been. I hollered, and they stopped. For a few seconds. By the time I got down nobody was anywhere close. About 30 minutes later I caught up with Tim and Jay, who said it was nice of me to join them.

This group needs some sensitivity training. Seriously.

After the short break at Red Bull Meadow, where I fed Tom a big, smelly sardine to try to slow him down, we all headed off, more or less together. It went pretty well, surprisingly, up until the Wickiup Plain. It should have a name more indicative of the heartbreak it engenders in all who cross it. Charlie had followed me up the long hill before, so I charitably gave him the lead as we began. His lead went from 10 to 200 yards in about 400 yards. He and Travis were up there, way behind Tom and Bill, who had saved themselves for a mile-long dash across this miasmatic mess. I was laboring: running on the flat, walking up the hills that kept appearing, trying to keep them in sight. Finally I was by myself, nobody in sight in front or behind. Why not walk? No, can’t do that, would be cheating. Cheating whom? Amazing, the conversations one hears at such times. At some point I came on the four of them, standing by a rock, evidently having a jolly good time. I started to stop, but that didn’t feel good at all and I knew it was only two or three miles to the end, so I just kept going. Pretty soon the trail leveled out, then sloped downhill, and my legs liked that a lot better than that long uphill through the sand on the Wickiup Plain. So I just sort of rolled on home, taking the last swallow of water in my bag when I hit the parking lot. No bandages needed this year. I need professional help to figure out why this is so much fun.

From the mind of John C.

Skirt the South Sister 2008

2008-09-08T10:34:00.000-07:00

Another successful skirting with a record turnout, 13 hairy legged skirters! We'll see if we can get any other personal accounts of accomplishment (or anguish) from some of the skirters, but for me it was a mixed bag of emotions. From the heights of joy running along Fall Creek to the pits of despair when the wheels fell off on Wikiup Plain. It sure was great to be with such an awesome group of crazy runners though, no matter how much my quads burned.

Olympic Trials Day 4 - Incredible

2008-07-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

What an amazing day of competition that just completed. That men's 800 meter final has to go down in history as one of the greatest races for Oregonians. Watching Nick Symmonds and Andy Wheating kick into high gear around the outside of the last turn was a marvel. Then to have Christian Smith dive at the finish line to capture the 3rd and final spot on the team was a dream come true. I can't wait to watch those guys in Beijing.

Several other UO athletes did a great job that day. Ashton Eaton had a great decathlon finish of 5th place and Rachel Yurkovich medaled bronze in the javelin (unfortunately she doesn't have an Olympic A standard so she won't be going to Beijing). Nicole Blood had to drop out of her 5000m semifinal.

It was also great to see OTC runner Ian Dobson qualify in the 5000m final. His step-mother was seated right behind me and boy was she excited.

Noon Group Sweeps 5K Awards

2008-05-22T13:57:00.000-07:00

It was a perfect 50 degree lunch-time at the UO Student Rec. Center Faculty/Staff 5K Fun Run. It was also a perfect placing for the famous Noon group runners as they took 1st, 2nd and 3rd at the event. Travis came in with a time of 18:49 on the hilly course, followed by Charlie with a solid 22:04 and then J finished the trifecta with a strong kick to 23:04. The traffic was light luckily so pauses at intersections were short. The hill at University was actually a lot shorter than I remember, coming back from an 18 mile Saturday morning run. The awards consisted of a drink tumbler, a granola bar and a pack of gum. We hope to increase the winning next year by capturing the first 10 places.

Marathon Diary - Dirty Genes

2008-05-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

The following is a diary entry from Dirty Genes about the 2008 Eugene Marathon.

Warmup: Discussed race strategy with John P. in the Huestis bathroom.

Twice.

Got my poop together and headed off to the playing fields to meet Travis for a pre-race stretch. No sign of him. I head to the start and joined to crush of people inside the livestock fencing. All that’s missing are the cattle prods.

And Travis.

Mile 1: Early success—a 7:45 mile and I wasn’t trampled to death.

Mile 3: Bob G. is at Dairy Mart, along with Kim and my neighbors. Bob yells “Where’s Travis?”

Dunno.

Mile 4: I choke down a Mango gel pack that came in my race packet. I can see why they gave them away. I’m running 7:30 pace now and trying to settle in for the long haul.

Mile 6: Bob yells “Where’s Travis?”

“I don’t know, do I look like his mother?” Don’t answer that.

Kim hands me my first half-liter of Cytomax. 20 meters later I yell back to her “where’s the lid?”

“It’s in my pocket!”

I keep going and mutter something that sounds like a swear word but I’m sure it wasn’t. Doing my best to hold the bottle even while running, the guy next to me says I should get a job as waiter. I tell him I already have a job as a waiter, they just don’t pay me for it. I finish the Cytomax in about half a mile and feel like I’m going to roll over like a harpooned whale.

I’m dead on 7:30 miles (really !) and happy for it.

Mile 7: Awesome aid station run by the South Eugene track kids. They are handing out drinks and yelling like crazy and the music is fun and loud. How can you not run for that?

Mile 9: Where’s Travis? I’ve given him up for dead, probably a spaghetti overdose at his carbo party last night. I wanted to brag to him about how easy I ran up 19th Street. Got a high five at the top from Linda Graebner, just back from the Boston Marathon, then downhill though campus, crossing mile 9 and still running 7:30 pace.

Mile 10: There’s Travis. He sneaks up from behind and has a sad story about being stuck in traffic on the shuttle from Autzen. Seems the crush of people at the start kept him to an 8:40 first mile, chip timed, no less. Then he panicked a little and ran Mile 2 in 6:38. We BS a bit, and I tell him if he’s going to run 3:10 he’d better get his ass out of here. That’s that last I saw of him and his ass.

Still dead on 7:30 pace (for real, T-mob!).

Mile 11: Another half liter of Cytomax from Bob. My right leg is tight, probably because it’s been worrying too much about my left leg.

Mile 12: Time for a Double Espresso gel pack, aka Rocket Fuel. Two swallows, 100 mg of caffeine, and my world just got a little brighter.

Mile 13: 138:26 chip time at the half marathon. I’d be beside myself with pride because of my self control except that my left knee is starting to hurt like hell and I put my vivid imagination to work wondering how bad it’s going to feel at mile 20. The real possibility of a DNF crosses my mind. They have a Clif Shot stand and I grab another Double Espresso for the road.

Mile 14: Bob is here. “Vitamin I!” I yell. He starts beating his pockets like someone is demanding money form him at gunpoint, and I go by.

“I’ll get ahead of you on the bike and hand it off then!”

The guy I’m running with tells me I’m looking pretty good for someone who’s hurt. I mutter “oh my god,” thinking it was under my breath.

The guy says “Hate to tell you this, but God isn’t going to bail you out of this one.--you chose to be here.”

The philosophical implications of this free choice statement are more than I can bear and I start laughing and wasting valuable calories.

Mile 15: Bob finally gets ahead of me, but he can’t get the ibuprofen out by the time I go by. Awesome. I go for the Double Espresso gel in my hand. The damned adult proof packaging gets the best of me and the gel squirts out in this big, gooey string that wraps around my face, down my jersey, onto my shorts, then trails away across my right shoe.

Greg is waiting for me as promised in Alton Baker. He’s already run most of the race. He’s hyped up on endorphins and Motley Crue coming through his ear buds and says no blonde, gum-chewing bimbos are going to pass us this year, then says that’s because they’re already ahead.

Gotta love a smartass after fifteen miles. We’re cruising at 7:20 pace and my knee is feeling better. It may be those endorphins that kick in just before you die a horrible death, but I’m having fun and don’t care. Greg can’t hear anything I say, so I focus on running easy and keeping him from going too fast.

Mile 17: Bob finally finds the ibuprofen. I tell him it’s too late. He sees the brown goop all over my face and yells “You’re bleeding!” and I say “No wonder I’m so tired!”

Mile 19: Still cruising at 7:20 pace. We pass some retirees before Owosso Bridge and they’re high-fiving me and one guy yells “Alright, another white hair!” and I feel as though I’ve finally arrived.

Mile 20: We cross Owosso and Greg takes Galen’s advice and walks the bridge. I don’t take advice very well and keep running.

Mile 21: Bob hooks up with me on his bike and rides along for the ride and I’m running 7:16 pace and wondering when the wheels are going to come off and my stomach is upset and I can only get about three swallows of Cytomax down before I feel like I’m going to hurl and I tell Bob I need to focus and believe it or not he stops talking. A

3:15 is still in my gun sights.

Mile 23: Here it comes. I’ve slowed to 7:30 pace and not because I chose to do that (maybe God’ll help me now). I’m just pouring water over myself at the aid stations because I wanna barf. I know there’s no way I can hang on for a 3:15 but can still take out 3:20, so just try to stay relaxed and keep to form. I’m frickin’ tired.

Mile 24: Les joins us. He asks how it’s going and I tell him I just need to relax and get under 3:20.

He says “Don’t relax too much.”

“Les, I’ve just run 23 hard miles, got over two to go, and I’ll relax as much as I damn well please.”

He takes my tantrum pretty well. Everyone knows I run better angry.

Mile 25: I have one last good stretch on the downhill under Ferry Street and the flat in front of EWEB, just before 25 miles. But the little uphill on the other side finally takes me down, and I have to walk a bit. Only a bit, though, then back to a jog, then something that resembles running. The 25 mile mark seems to take forever to arrive.

Mile 26: I get here with two more cycles of short walk/jog/ run and have still managed to keep an 8:40 pace since mile 24. Rounding the corner of Autzen Stadium I can see the finish clock ticking toward 3:20 and manage something that at least feels like a kick. It might have been just slightly faster than walking, but I’m going as hard as I can. The clock reads 3:20-something when I go across and I’m exhausted and momentarily depressed, then I look at my own watch and see 3:19:48. Thank god for chip timing.

Marathon Complete

2008-05-05T08:59:00.000-07:00

The weather cooperated but the body was less acquiescent. The 2008 Eugene Marathon was another successful event in the lives of this running troupe. Congrats to all the finishers, you all overcame pain and doubt.

Countdown to the Eugene Marathon

2008-04-29T09:40:00.000-07:00

5 more days until the pain can be broughten. Everyone seems to be in good health and ready to avenge any demons that hang over our heads from last year. The weather seems like it will cooperate, no rain, partly cloudy, in the 50s. Boston, here we come!

22 miles + snow

2008-04-03T08:29:00.000-07:00

Saturday, March 30. The first 20+ miler of the season was accompanied by a rare snowfall from mile 10 to mile 16. The course was pretty once we got out of Springfield and onto McKenzie View Drive. Tom forgot bodyglide but didn't complain too much about it. Terry was a savior with his table of goodies at several stops along the way, thank you Terry! I even managed to choke down half a Starbucks espresso shot at mile 15. Cristin, John P, Rob and John C all did a great job out there.

Mile times for Tom and myself: Mile Times: 1 9:17 2 8:33 3 8:21 4 8:13 5 8:11 6 8:02 7 8:05 8 8:07 9 8:03 10 8:04 11 8:06 12 7:52 13 7:46 14 7:41 15 7:19 16 7:19 17 6:58 18 7:48 19 7:34 20 7:28 21 7:29 22 7:40 Average of 7:54/mile for 22 miles (Under 3:28 marathon pace)

Hero of the Day: Buster Martin

2008-03-07T16:30:00.000-08:00

Buster is attempting to set a new record as the oldest person to complete a marathon, at the age of 101! He still drinks, smokes and frequents several pubs. Learn more at the ABC News link or watch the video.

I have a strong conviction though that his record will be beaten by several members of this running group!

Senior Olympics Champions, 1989

2008-03-07T10:30:00.000-08:00

Bob (you know, shortcut Bob) sent me some great pictures of the 4x400m relay championship team from the 1989 Senior Olympics held in Silverton, OR. Looks like those old guys could really run back then. Hey wait, these old guys can still run today, most impressive!

Bob doesn't remember the official time but I bet you guys were close to the 50-59 record. It was set by Jackson Steffes, Jim Mathis, Martyn Adamson and Larry Colbert in 1989, a time of 3:35.88. It was also done right here in Eugene.

Champoeg 30k Controversy

2008-03-06T09:11:00.000-08:00

Results:

Well we all survived and even thrived. Here are the race results. Pictures are available thanks to Anna.

March 2008 Trip to Portland

UPDATE:

Terry shared with me the flyer for the run and it states a 8am early start for the 30k as well as the 9am regular start time, very nice. Thanks Terry!

According to J, there are 2 start times for the 30k at Champoeg Park on March 8. One is at 8:30am and another at 9:30am. The only info I can find online about this year's race is located here, http://www.orrc.net/races/champoeg/champoeg.htm. And all that website describes is 9am for everything. So either the website really sucks at letting us know what is really happening or J is trying to mess with my head. Either way we should all get there with plenty of time regardless. Since the website says to give yourelf 45 minutes travel time from Salem then we will have to be hitting the road real early. Google says the trip takes 1 hour 38 minutes so if we want to be there by 8:15am then we should be leaving at around 6:30am. Here are directions from the firestation: View Larger Map

List Serve Created

2008-02-29T15:09:00.000-08:00

I know this might be a bit too much of forcing us into the new millenium, but I just put together a Google Group for us to use as our email list serve. This will allow people to manage their own email address and update it when they get a new one. Also now all you have to do is send an email to uonoonrunners@googlegroups.com and it will be sent to everyone subscribed. Of course you have to become a member first to be able to send/receive emails. If you didn't get an invite from me today (leap day!) then let me know and I will send one your way. Also once you have signed up, you have the ability to send invites to anyone else you think should be included in the list serve. If you have any questions, let me know. Looking forward to puking Saturday!

Random Posting of the Day

2008-02-27T15:06:00.000-08:00

This one is via Jim B -

Topic: ways to beat your friends to the finish line during "friendly" fitness runs:

Bracket your friend between you and an accomplice while you pummel them into submission while running (Tom and Greg, ganging up on Monte).

Start about a mile out to make sure you really break their spirit.

Use trees, cars and other obstructions to mask your sneaky approach to mount a sprint to the finish line.

A Cry for Help

2008-02-27T09:08:00.000-08:00

This afternoon at approximately 3:15pm, a radical splinter cell of the usual Noon Runners will be beginning their death march. What drives this insane sect of a normally sane group to attempt such dangerous feats is unknown. Their workout will consist of 12 mile repeats at 10 minute intervals. When the math is done to include their warmup and cooldown, the total mileage will rival the 15 miles experienced over the last weekend. Our hearts and prayers go out to the innocent victims of these reckless individuals, the aching knees and gasping calf muscles that must endure such harsh treatment. If you would like to join them, the group will be meeting at the Adidas Trail at 3:30pm. This Saturday will include

"a 14 mile timed run, with target pace near projected marathon pace. The route will start at Knickerbocker Bridge heading a mile toward Springfield and then finding its way to the Owasso Bridge then back to the Fire Station. I imagine some folks running in the 7:30 or better, with others much slower."

Home

2008-02-20T08:37:00.000-08:00

The University of Oregon is steeped with tradition for distance running. Names like Bill Bowerman, Steve Prefontaine and Alberto Salazar echo through the halls of Oregon distance. There is however another great tradition that is rarely trumpeted, the Noon Group Runners. The humble beginnings of one of the oldest amateur running groups arose from a passion to run and a passion to belong. The group has seen 30 minute 10k runners as well as 30 second schnicken eaters. The ages and professions run the gamut from a 25 year-old Web Developer to a 70 year old Psychology Professor. Some runs display the wandering minds of the group as a trail can be invented with little effort. Other workouts reach deep into the soul to discover, as Prefontaine so elegantly put it "who has the most guts!" But every event always share a common thread of decency and unity that is known as the "stretching-spot." A spot where all members rally each runner to once again congregate and set forth as a team, growing stronger together as they grow stronger individually.