I Blame My Sister


I just want to preface this, my first blog entry, with the one statement that could preface just about everything in my life:

I blame my sister.

A Mother and Son

Mother and son

My parents made me play golf.

The thrill of whacking a dimpled orb with a stick in hopes of it landing in a tiny hole eluded me as a child and continues to elude me as an adult. I appreciate my parents wanting to have a family hobby, but golf? Seriously? Psychedelic-patterned shorts aside, I couldn’t get passionate about the game. Oh, and I was terrible. A danger to myself and those in close proximity.

A Trail Dog – and His Dog


Are great trail runners born, or made? Reflexively, I would tell you that my dog, Nacho, was born to be a trail runner. But then I remember how it all started and I’m not so sure.