Almost everyone reading this has probably experienced that letdown after a big race. For months and months (or years and years) you have this goal race, the date circled on the calendar. You train hard with that date in mind. You make many sacrifices, skipping out on beers with friends on Saturday to rest up for a Sunday long run, or you leave behind family and travel thousands of miles and hole yourself up in an apartment in the Swiss Alps to training your butt off. Whatever the event, however many miles you log, whatever the sacrifice, eventually that day on the calendar comes…and it goes.

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I hate training. I really do. While I’m at it, I also despise working out and absolutely never run workouts. Never.

Don’t get me wrong: I love running. Probably just as much as you do. What I hate is the “training” word. Maybe it’s a case of semantics, but I equate training and working out with…work.

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It’s nice to put away the running shoes for a little while in the winter and go on some adventures. I love trail running in the summer – getting out into the mountains and enjoying the peace. Ski Touring in the winter is much the same. You just chug along for hours at a pretty reasonable pace, enjoy the scenery, and (unlike running) normally get a pretty sweet downhill run at the end of the day.

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The other day my son Boyd (now 4 years old) and I went to the library and checked out our weekly pile of books including some old favorites and some never reads. We always check out more than we can carry and get an extra weight workout in during this process. Children’s books are one of my guilty pleasures. I love reading books to kids (especially Boyd), because I can then listen to their insightful comments and predictions. I also find the level of imagination required by the authors and illustrators to be very interesting.

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