Of Mushrooms and Movements (running version)

(Note: I wrote the original version of this post last year for Third Act Maryland. “Movement” there referred to that of a community of people toward common goals related to the climate crisis and democracy. This current post is a longer, running version, a sort of in the long run version. 😊)

Movement is life. This is true for an individual and is true for a collective. Movement is, obviously, the foundation of the running community, not just in the literal sense, but also in the sense of the organic development and growth of this running community. “Community” here is not that which is explicitly organized (e.g., a running club); but, rather, that which forms organically, via shared activities (e.g., races), shared experiences (e.g., training for races), and, increasingly, shared concern about the effects of a fast-warming climate on running and on outdoor sports in general. Heat-related issues in the 2021 Tokyo Summer Olympics dramatically highlighted this latter concern. Air pollution as well, from burning fossil fuels, forest fires, and other sources, can affect running performance. Here is an interesting example of an interactive map of climate change impacts along the Western States Endurance Run course (oldest 100-mile race in the United States) in the Sierra Nevada foothills. (The map was created by Dr. Brianna R. (Pagán) Corremonte of Development Seed and formerly of NASA GES DISC. The image shown is a screen capture of the actual map, with added annotations in red.)

What sustains this movement?

1. A community of skilled and dedicated people, of course, without which there is no movement. A community belonging to the Church of the Long Run; a community that “is a highly self-selective one and, thus, is open to everyone”; a community in which each member is always asking that eternal question of life, “why I run?”

2. The planning and carrying out of episodic actions that provide focus and expression. Foot races and the associated volunteering and fund-raising are obvious. Sanctuary Runners, a solidarity-through-sport initiative in Ireland, “uses running, jogging and walking to bring together asylum seekers, refugees, migrants and all Irish residents.”

3. A vision of what else the world could be like. Running provides such a vision.

But a movement is also sustained by the ongoing work in between the actions, and that ongoing work provides the necessary stability, continuity, connections and relationships, self-healing, and self-improvement. In essence, the ongoing work in between actions forms the foundation of a movement.

Writer, activist, and Third Act advisor Rebecca Solnit provided a wonderful mushroom metaphor for this ongoing work in an illustration based on this article in The Guardian. Solnit wrote, “After a rain mushrooms appear on the surface of the earth as if from nowhere. Many come from a sometimes vast underground fungus that remains invisible and largely unknown. What we call mushrooms, mycologists call the fruiting body of the larger, less visible fungus. Uprisings and revolutions are often considered to be spontaneous, but it is the less visible long-term organising and groundwork – or underground work – that often laid the foundation.” (There have been a lot of studies on this common mycorrhizal network or, more popularly known, “wood wide web.” A few recent articles: 1, 2, 3. Note also the associated controversy: 4, 5.)

This centrality of relationships and connectedness, and the importance of the in-between, foundational, and often not very visible work can be found nearly everywhere, including, literally, in the foundations of buildings. For competitive athletes, for whom movement is literal, the analogy obviously is the long periods of training in between competitions.

In fact, the importance of in-between work is universal. This ongoing work in between actions is also the foundation of nature, at all scales of space and time. A landslide, e.g., “occurs when forces acting down-slope (mainly due to gravity) exceed the strength of the earth materials that compose the slope.”  It’s the visible episodic action resulting from this exceedance, the causes of which are the in-between work (e.g., changes in ground water, stream erosion).

Basically, it’s the question of process vs. goal, where process is the in-between work and goal is the episodic action. Goal is not the point, just a milepost, a measure of productivity, a by-product of process. That is not to say goals are not important. Goals and success or failure in achieving them can be, obviously, consequential. And goals can be motivating in that achieving. But, in the larger context, process--or, rather, process with presence and intention--is the goal.

Similarly, I don’t run in order to race; I run to run. Race is just a measure of how I’m running. As Annie Dillard famously wrote in The Writing Life, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” Adapted to running a marathon, “How we run our steps is, of course, how we run our marathons.” If a marathoner is focused on the here and now--the next step--there is no need to think about the goal. Eventually, they will get to the finish line (if they are going in the right direction, of course). The finish line is what keeps runners moving in the right direction in a marathon, but it’s not the actual race.

So, even if a specific near-term goal seems not achievable, the process continues. If it’s the right thing to do, then the in-between work continues, regardless of outcome. We do the best we can, not knowing if we’ll succeed. We show up, and we do it intentionally, which is what hope really is—not something you have, but something you make. Hope is the basis for action.

Or, in the long run view, be like water.

Given the importance of in-between work, how can runners more thoughtfully and consistently incorporate it into what we do to address the climate crisis, as well as the democracy crisis. One example, already mentioned at the beginning of this post, is Sanctuary Runners (Ireland). Many other groups are also doing the work. The following is a partial list:

•          Goodgym (UK) - “GoodGym helps you get fit by doing good. We’re a group of runners, walkers, and cyclists who combine regular exercise with helping our communities.”
•      EcoAthletes (global) - “An experienced team of athletes and academics, climate scientists and ecopreneurs, green business leaders and journalists, devoted to identifying & equipping the Jackie Robinsons and the Megan Rapinoes of the climate crisis to lead climate action”
•         The Green Runners (UK) - “Runners who love the environment and Environmentalists who love to run”
•         Runners for Public Lands (U.S.) - “We empower runners to protect public lands, engage in climate action, and expand access to nature for all.”
•         Sport4Climate (global) - “The Sport4Climate initiative capitalizes on the universality of sport to unite athletes and fans alike in support of a sustainable future.”
•         Protect Our Winters (U.S.) - “We turn passionate outdoor people into climate advocates, working together to protect a future with clean air, clean water and a healthy planet.”
•         Running Out of Time (UK) - “an annual climate relay that raises awareness, inspires action and celebrates great climate campaigns, projects and events across Britain”

Running will be part of the solution to get us over to the other side and to then build something better. Timothy Snyder, in his recent piece, “Running together,” told a story about a 5K race in Toronto that he and his daughter signed up for that turned out to be a scam. No starting line, no finish line, no bibs, no officials, no volunteers, nothing, nada. It was freezing; it was snowing. Then, someone suggested that they could run the 5K anyway. Everyone nodded and quickly self-organized: start and finish line, out-and-back course, turnaround point. Without bibs, there was no timing and no “official competition”--though, of course, there’s always an element of competition (!). The runners’ paces, as typical, varied, so they got to the finish line over a period of many minutes. But, “[e]very runner who had finished had waited, forming two lines, one on each side of the path, to offer congratulations as finishers passed between.” That must have been so wonderful to see.

Was it a race? Did it matter? This impromptu 5K still served as a milepost, a measure of one’s running progress, a measure of the process. This 5K also revealed that, when circumstances change, when the structure of relationships changes, behaviors change. The scammed runners became, for a time, a community looking out for each other.

Maybe runners are different, maybe not. But, this 5K story reminded me of Rebecca Solnit's A Paradise Built in Hell in which she wrote in the Epilogue: "Disaster reveals what else the world could be like." Fooled by a digital scam is not the kind of disaster Solnit wrote about, but that even such a mini-disaster reveals what could be surely warms the heart and bodes well.

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, an evolving view

When I wrote my first reflection after completing a Boulder Outdoor Survival School (BOSS) 7-Day Field Expedition 10 years ago, I titled it, “BOSS, the ultimate cross-training.” It was running-centric, i.e., BOSS was the ultimate cross-training *for* running.

Being out there in southern Utah really puts everything in proper perspective.

Over the following couple years, I wrote three more posts in that “BOSS, the ultimate cross-training” series. So, four total: “part 1,” “part 2 (physical),” “part 3 (mental),” and “part 4 (spiritual).” Shortly afterward, BOSS became a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, and I added another post related to that change, “a community.” Around that time, I was also getting ready to take another BOSS course. But, then came the global pandemic.

It wasn’t until 2023 that I was able to take my second BOSS course, a 14-Day Field Expedition. After completing that course, I began another BOSS series, titled, “BOSS, what else the world could be like.” The first post of that series is “part 1 (heart circles).” The second one, “part 2 (climate connection),” is in work. A major lesson learned from that 14-Day course can be summarized by what I wrote in the “part 1 (heart circle)” post: “Never again would I look at a hiker with a backpack and think, meh, that is just walking!” My view on the relationship between running and hiking (with a weighted pack) evolved from running-centric to one of mutual benefit and respect.

Recently, I added two more posts to the “BOSS, the ultimate cross-training” series: “a revelation” and “seriously.” I wrote the former before, and the latter after, this year’s 28-Day Field Expedition course from which I had to leave early due to some upper leg muscle issues. (This was my fourth BOSS course. The third one, in 2024, was more skill-focused and less physically demanding.) From this recent experience, my view on the relationship between running and hiking is that it’s complicated. And, it’s more intimate than I’d thought. My view has further evolved. I now think, at least for me, that running a marathon is easier than hiking extended distances with a loaded pack.

I’m planning more posts for both “BOSS, the ultimate cross-training” and “BOSS, what else the world could be like” series. For ease of access, I’ve collected all my BOSS-related posts here, in an ongoing table of contents.

Ultimate cross-training

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 1

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 2 (physical)

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 3 (mental)

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 4 (spiritual)

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, a community

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, a revelation

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, seriously

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, an evolving view [this current post]

What else the world could be like

BOSS, what else the world could be like, part 1 (heart circles)

BOSS, what else the world could be like, part 2 (climate connection) [in work]

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, seriously

Somewhere on the steep climb from Boulder Creek (north of Boulder, Utah and west of UT-12), where the group had taken a break, to a utility gravel road, I felt it for the first time, and then a few more times. The feeling was not one of pain, sharp or otherwise. Fatigue, sure; but that’s too broad. From my perspective, the best way to describe the feeling is an increasing lack of responsiveness of the leg muscles, particularly the quads. The muscles still responded, but with a lag. And that, over the terrain on which we’re travelling, meant the risks also increased, for myself and, over time, for the rest of the group.

It was late afternoon on Friday. All through the week, since our group of ten students and three instructors had set out late afternoon the previous Sunday, I’ve pace myself to stay under my lactate threshold. On that climb, something, perhaps lactate, perhaps something else, crossed a threshold.

It felt all too eerily similar, almost identical, painfully—not so much physically but mentally--recalling what I’d felt, also toward the end of the first week of another BOSS (Boulder Outdoor Survival School in Boulder, UT) course I’d taken in 2023, a 14-Day Field Expedition. On that course, the problem with my leg muscles occurred on the second day of a three-day group expedition, and I was able to make it through that phase of the course. This time, the course was a 28-Day Field Expedition, and the problem began on the first day of a seven-day group expedition. In both cases, the onset of the problem was rather sudden.

My pace slowed quite a bit, compared to that before the break at Boulder Creek; and I was walking just ahead of the sweep, a fellow student, and Steve, the head instructor. I knew I needed to decide soon. My mind was quickly going through all the options and their possible outcomes, none of which was completely satisfactory. I knew from the 14-Day course that I needed time to recover--time that I didn’t have, because I was on the course schedule, not mine.

We were about two miles from the day’s camp site, and the route there was not particularly difficult. I felt confident that I could slowly walk there and, perhaps, after a night's rest, even continue with the group for another day or two. But, beyond that, to complete the entire seven-day expedition, I felt it was not realistic. I approached Steve, and we discussed my situation. He was supportive however I decided and provided some additional information.

On that gravel road, knowing what I knew from the 14-Day course experience and knowing that, from my lifelong running, my sense of the body’s limits was finely honed, I reluctantly decided, everything considered, to leave the course barely one week into it.

Prior to the course, I’d written about a revelation I had from the 14-Day course, which was that, at least from my personal experience, it seems the usage of the leg muscles is very different between running and walking, and relying on my running would be insufficient for the 28-Day course. So, in preparation for the latter, I adapted my favorite marathon training plan, by replacing two of the weekly runs with hikes of increasing distances and backpack weights, and of varying elevations and terrain surface types (of trails and cross-country).

In hindsight, this adapted training plan was comically inadequate. I’ve lots of mixed feelings. Disappointed with my early exit, of course. Bummed out, for sure. More though, I’m just so mad at myself for underestimating the demands of the course. It was not as if I didn’t know better. In addition to the 14-Day course, I’ve completed two other BOSS courses. I knew the environment; I knew the terrain; I knew the elevation (Boulder, UT is at 6,700 ft). What was I thinking!?

Leaving a course early, in many ways, especially psychologically, feels similar to a DNF (did not finish) in a marathon. Of the 25 or so marathons I’ve run, I DNF’ed once (Potomac 2014). I remember, after that DNF, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and how I had to finish the next one (Harrisburg 2014), because, as Brian Morrison once said, "once you drop that first time, it gets easier and easier to throw in the towel."

This time, this DNF, it’s the same: from the moment I left the group, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. A day later, in my Salt Lake City hotel room, awaiting my flight the next day, I couldn’t sleep. And when I finally fell sleep, I slept fitfully. I was second-guessing my decision, of course; though, I felt pretty comfortable that mine was not a case of Tim Noakes’ second- and lower-placed finishers accepting “their respective finishing positions and no longer choose to challenge for a higher finish." But, this thought kept coming up: has the aging curve finally caught up with the training curve? I kept waking up to jot down notes, to google lactate threshold, google dehydration, google rucking, google hiking coach, and a dozen other topics. As the predawn light filtered into the room, I finally concluded that it’s--still (!)--mostly a matter of training and dozed off.

So, what now?

First, I need to find out what caused the problem with the leg muscles and how to prevent or mitigate it. As with marathons, where the outcome is largely decided in the prior months of training, my early exit from the 28-Day course was largely decided before I even got to Boulder (i.e., how I trained). Once the course began, though, there were other possible contributing factors: (1) dehydration, especially, with age, the weakening of the thirst sensation; (2) insufficient sleep, not so much from the nighttime temperature (around 50F), but from the difficulty in finding a comfortable sleeping position; (3) lack of food during “Impact,” the first phase of the course, where no food was provided and water was whatever we found and treated along the way; and (4) elevation which, for the first week, ranged from 6,700 to almost 10,000 ft. As for the latter, cardiovascularly, I was fine. My breathing felt normal; so, my running fitness was sufficient. But, what about the lungs to the bloodstream and from the bloodstream to the tissues? Why, if exceeding the lactate threshold was a problem, did it take so long to recover? Answers to these questions should also help with the last 10K of marathons.

First night camp site, showing all the gear I was carrying for the Impact phase of the 28-Day course.

Second, I need to figure out how to train better, with a plan that’s more specific to the course environment and more commensurate with the course demands and doing it at the elevation where I live (433 ft). I need to figure out how to recover enough overnight. I need to incorporate multi-day hikes. I need to figure out how to simulate the course elevation, terrain, and extended climbs. I need to incorporate more strength training, both upper body and upper leg and overall. I’m looking for hiking training plans and also, possibly, a hiking coach. If I’m to take the 28-Day course again, which I plan to, I want to seriously train, so that the physical part of hiking with a loaded pack occurs in the background. That way, I could focus on, e.g., navigation or just enjoying the scenery!

After the 2023 14-Day course, I wrote that “Never again would I look at a hiker with a backpack and think, meh, that is just walking!” Now, I’d say, at least for me, that running a marathon is easier than hiking extended distances with a loaded pack. Usually, on day 4 after a marathon, I’d feel ready to go out for a test run. This time, as of today, day 6 after I’d left the course, my legs still don’t feel quite ready to run. Maybe another day or so.

Blanket pack and versa cloth day carrier, with combined weight of 30+/- lbs. BOSS’ motto is “Know more, carry less.”

Though my 28-Day course ended prematurely this time, it was still worth the experience. Every BOSS course I’ve taken has been life-changing; this one was no exception. The instructors, as always, were superb. Fellow students, from diverse backgrounds, become friends after the course. The scenery was incredible. I learned a lot of skills and gained a lot of knowledge. And, perhaps more importantly, I learned a lot about myself and my relationship to nature.

Students and instructors gather for a quick morning lesson before hiking out.

Scenic views abound in the areas that BOSS courses go through.

Toula, one of the instructors, giving a lesson on friction fire, using a bow drill.

Meanwhile, my running continues. I now have an unplanned couple extra weeks to train for the upcoming Steamtown Marathon in October. 😊 And, next April, I’m planning to run the Coast Guard Marathon. Then, depending on which BOSS 28-Day course in 2026, I’ll start training—seriously--in April or May.

Running shoes, another update, plus a milestone

OK, here’s a quick update on the increasing number of shoes that I’m rotating for my runs and their lifespan. In two previous posts on this subject, I showed the following two photos, first one from July 2020 and second one from December 2022.

Here’s the most recently updated photo (July 2025). 

                                                      * Includes two mothball years, so actually 7th year of use. 

                                                    ** 3rd year since being de-mothballed; forgot how many years I'd worn it previously.

The bottom row of five shoes is arranged in the same order as that of the first two photos above. The top row has one additional, the Merrell Trail Glove at upper right (my first pair of Merrell and still all-around favorite!), that I “de-mothballed.” So, starting in 2023, I’ve been rotating through eight pairs of shoes and, occasionally, two other pairs (another Vibram FiveFingers for treadmill and Brooks Pure Grit for rough trails). The “milestone” in the title refers to the MBA2, my first pair of shoes exceeding 2,000 miles.

Here's a table summarizing the numbers:

	MBA3	MBA2	VFF5	VFF4	MVG	MTG2	VFF3	MTG1
July’20	490	1370	350	670	35
Dec’22	1154	1854	928	1165	648	583	766
July’25	1383	2106	1526	1415	872	1362	1027	323

Obviously, I don’t buy shoes often. And I don’t buy the story that I’ve to buy shoes often because they are only supposed to last 300-500 miles. Using Shoe Goo and, as needed, duct tape for “shoe recovery” is much more economical.

As for my climbing shoes (bouldering) …

… I did get a new pair. 😊

(NB: I’ve zero relationship with any of the manufacturers of products mentioned in this post.)

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, a revelation

“Never again would I look at a hiker with a backpack and think, meh, that is just walking!”

That’s what I wrote in a post I’d published after my 2023 BOSS (Boulder Outdoor Survival School) 14-Day Field Expedition course in southern Utah. In preparing for the course, being a long-distance runner, I’d thought I had both the physical and mental parts of the course covered. It turned out the mental part was fine. But, the physical part was definitely not! It was a lesson-learned that should not have been one. Because of course I knew about the importance of training specificity: to prepare for a lot of hiking with a loaded backpack, I need to train by hiking a lot with a loaded backpack. Duh!

The “revelation” in the title of this current post came in the training for my 2024 BOSS 14-Day Primitive Living Intensive course. (This post is the latest in the “BOSS, the ultimate cross-training” series that I’d begun after my first BOSS course, a 7-Day Field Expedition, in 2015. See part 1, part 2 (physical), part 3 (mental), part 4 (spiritual), and a community.) With the 2023 BOSS experience still etched in my mind, I scheduled several training hikes with a loaded backpack in the weeks before the 2024 course. For the first morning hike, it was yet another lesson-learned that should not have been one: I went out too fast and I went too far. And I barely made it back home. For the rest of the day, I could hardly walk, even on flat surfaces. Stairs were painfully slow. It was like nothing I’d ever felt after marathons. And I had a 5-mile run scheduled for the next morning.

With the legs still very fatigued in the morning, I decided to try doing my run anyway. I did my usual indoor warm-up routine, went to the bathroom, donned my running gear, hobbled to the end of my driveway by the street, and waited for my heart rate to drop below the usual threshold. All this time, I was thinking that I would just run a few steps, and, mostly likely, the legs would complain so much that I’d have to turn around and go back home. I started my watch and began running and, whoa! What?! Nothing--I felt practically nothing! My legs felt almost completely normal! There was none of the fatigue I was just feeling while walking down the driveway. Astonished, fascinated, and puzzled, I did the entire run with a big grin on my face. But, that’s not the end of the story. I finished the five miles, jogged a few steps, slowed down to a walk, and, bang, I was hobbling again … Huh?!

So, at least from my personal experience, it seems the usage of the leg muscles is very different between running and walking. I’ve just started looking into the literature about the underlying physiological reasons for this difference. So far, I’ve not come across any study that clearly confirms my experience. Here’s one, on “Differences in muscle function during walking and running at the same speed” (in Journal of Biomechanics). Except for the soleus (back part of the calf), “[a]ll other muscle groups distributed mechanical power among the body segments and provided support and forward propulsion in a qualitatively similar manner in both walking and running.” For me, though, the main fatigue was not in the soleus.

Whatever the reason for my experiencing a much greater difference between running and walking, this difference is directly relevant to cross training, especially for endurance running on trails with large vertical elevation differences. Training for one strengthens performance in the other. And, this difference reinforces why training specificity is so important. For that 7-Day course, I got away with relying on just my running. For that 14-Day course, not so much. And, for a 28-Day course, the “standard” BOSS field expedition course, no freaking way!

I’m currently tapering in my training for the upcoming 28-Day course.  I adapted my favorite marathon training plan, the one that helped me run my PR and first BQ. Basically, I replaced two of the weekly runs with hikes of increasing distances and backpack weights, and of varying elevations and terrain surface types (of trails and cross-country).

Because hiking with a loaded backpack is definitely not just walking!

A path appears

These are difficult times, particularly for those directly affected by the cruelty and stupidity emanating daily from what should be the People’s House. But, we're all connected, to each other and to nature, in a more profound way than six degrees of separation; thus, everyone is affected as well, sooner or later. America in 2025 is not Nazi Germany in 1933 or People’s Republic of China in 1966 or Argentina in 1976 (not yet, anyway). But, historical parallels and echoes abound. America is not immune. Watching the ongoing coup metastasizing through the body politic, most painfully those parts most vulnerable, from the vantage point of as yet mostly “normal” life, feels almost surreal—though, of course, it’s anything but. One can also now understand better how those historical atrocities could have happened in the midst of “normal” life.

Personally, I‘m ricocheting between trying to maintain some perspective (e.g., by visualizing Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot) and knowing all too well that, in many parts of that dot, there are immense amounts of pain and suffering and death. I also realize that I need to calm down; I need to breathe; I need to heed the advice of many to first take care of oneself. To that end, running through nature has always been my medicine. And, in recent weeks, running has been an especially welcome balm. Another way to take care of oneself is to do it collectively, as part a larger community, to share our anger, our sadness, but also our hope—as we plan and act.

But, after calming down, after taking care of oneself, what can an individual do? What can a community of individuals do? Where is the path ahead, a path that appears, a path for us to get across to the other side?

In running, one sees “a path appears” a lot, e.g., a side trail to the “official” one, in order to get to some scenic point; an alternative trail that’s more direct than the “official” one. Or, in this photo, a path created by walkers and runners where there’s no sidewalk and no real shoulder.

And, of course, any rectilinearly laid out walkway will most likely get rounded off at the corners over time. Someone, that first person, annoyed enough by the unnaturalness of 90-degree turns, will decide to “cut corners.” Others will then follow, or perhaps cut somewhat different corners, until, eventually, a path that most people follow appears: an optimal path gets crowdsourced. What is optimal may not be conventionally expected.

Lu Xun in 1921 wrote, "Hope is like a path in the countryside. Originally, there is nothing—but as people walk this way again and again, a path appears." This quote is the source of the title of Nicholas Kristof's book, A Path Appears (2015). Lu Xun's "hope" is based on action, actions that individuals take, which collectively become actions that communities take. Rebecca Solnit similarly described "hope" in her book, Hope in the Dark (2016): “Hope just means another world might be possible, not promise, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope.” So, hope is not something one feels or has; hope is something one does.

Recently, to calm myself down a bit, I joined a "Walk and Talk" with Del. Lorig Charkoudian (District 20, Montgomery Co., Maryland) along Sligo Creek Parkway, Takoma Park, MD. It was my first time. It was fun and I learned a lot. Del. Charkoudian went through a lot of what was going on in the current legislative session in Annapolis, MD. Overall, at the state and local levels, it seems a lot can still be done. So, that's a little bit of calm in the ongoing storm. Also calming was this barred owl (?) in a bamboo grove watching as we passed by.

Toward the end of the "Walk and Talk," Del. Charkoudian, in describing her own feelings toward recent events, said "eventually, a path will appear." I found out later that she was referring to Myles Horton and Paulo Freire’s book, We Make the Road by Walking. The title of the book comes from a line by Freire in Chapter 1 (Introduction): “I think that even though we need to have some outline, I am sure that we make the road by walking.” For both authors, real liberation is achieved through popular participation. The phrase, “we make the road by walking,” was adapted from a poem by the Spanish poet Antonio Machado in "Proverbios y Cantares" (Proverbs and Songs), which is part of his Campos de Castilla (Fields of Castile). The specific line in the poem is "se hace camino al andar" ("you make the path as you walk”). Pre-existing path not there? Don’t be distressed. Just make your own. Just start by … starting.

On a "Walk and Talk" along Sligo Creek Parkway, Takoma Park, Maryland, Del. Lorig Charkoudian briefed everyone on what was going on in the current legislative session in Annapolis.

Focus on the next step, then the next step. Focus on the here and now. Which is basically what running, especially endurance running, is, i.e., focusing on one foot after another. If one is going in the right direction, there's no need to think much about the goal. Eventually, one will get to the finish line. Recently, I was visiting family in northern California, and, for one of my Sunday long runs, I took the Rocky Ridge Trail eastward towards Rocky Ridge (west of Mt. Diablo). There’s a tall antenna of some sort on top of Rocky Ridge that can be seen from the trail several miles to the west. In this case, the path existed, and I knew I was going in the right direction. One foot after another and, eventually, the antenna came into view right in front of me.

Both Machado’s path and Lu Xun’s path are made by walking. Machado’s path is one’s own unique path through life (“y al volver la vista atrás” (“and on glancing back”) one sees “sino estelas en la mar.” (“just your wake in the sea.”)); whereas Lu Xun’s path is one that others follow. But, perhaps in difficult times, when one’s not seeking uniqueness but solutions, some of these unique paths will leave wakes large enough, long-lasting enough, that others will follow; until, eventually, individual wakes build on each other into a wave--a blue wave.

Regarding the ongoing coup in America, how should people respond and act? How do we “appear” a path? What about runners of the world? Unite (?!) Well, sure, of course. But, what’s the path? Given the current environment, a path will have to go through the local. Part of the path is building community, providing mutual aid, planting seeds of resistance and of change. They try to flood the zone and bury us; but they’re finding out that we are like seeds. We float and spread. We settle and sprout. We network and build something different, something better.

I think running will be a part of the solution to get us across to the other side. Running is democratic, as well as insurrectional. There’s a lot that life can learn from running. For runners, there are different paths. One example is Sanctuary Runners (SR) in Ireland, “a solidarity-through-sport initiative which uses running, jogging and walking to bring together asylum seekers, refugees, migrants and all Irish residents.” SR currently has groups only in Ireland but with plans to expand internationally.

Many have said this: Every individual act is important. I like this quote of Dorothy Day: “What good can one person do? What is the sense of our small effort? They cannot see that we must lay one brick at a time, take one step at a time. A pebble cast into a pond causes ripples that spread in all directions. Each one of our thoughts, words and deeds is like that. No one has a right to sit down and feel hopeless. There is too much work to do.” And also this more succinct one from Christa Mancias, in responding to “what gives you hope?”: “Everyone is a solution to our problems.” Because real power lies with us the people (1, 2).

These are difficult times. But, in a Dickensian way, these are also hopeful times. As former NOAA Administrator Richard William Spinrad (who resigned as of January 20, 2025) said, what they are doing is like "the bull in a china shop; a lot of broken stuff and a lot of bullshit." The purpose of the ongoing wanton destruction is to seize control. But, it also creates an opportunity for us, an opportunity to build what else the world could be like.

A path will appear; it's up to us.