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I wanted to comment on your piece about smells of running. For me it is sounds. For 14 years in Randolph, I ran in the woods. Similarly in graduate school on Middletown, Wadsworth Park was my main running location. In Seattle, I ran often under some highways through Mercer Slough Park and across the short I90 bridge to Mercer Island. The last location had my all-time most memorable run. It was dusk/dark and a driving rain storm. I recall the roar of the cars on the bridge, the pounding rain, and the sudden quiet as I turned down Mercer Way. That was 1979 and I remember the run like yesterday. In Wadsworth Park on the Middletown/Middlefield line in Connecticut, I can still her the sounds of the forest- birds, animals, waterfalls, etc., yet I haven't run there since 1978. In Randolph, it was the Blue Hills Conservation area. I remember the silence (and beauty) of the woods when it was snowing with perhaps an inch of snow on the ground; the crunch of my feet on the crushed stone pathways near Ponkapoag Golf Course, and the sound of cars on 128 and 24 off in the distance.

There are a few smells I remember- the damp earthy smell of the woods in early spring in the Blue Hills, fresh mown grass on the XC course at Xavier High School in Middletown, CT, the swampy areas near the wood-chip paths in the Blue Hills.

And the surprises: nearly stepping on a snake across the path in the Blue Hills, discovering a beautiful small waterfall in Wadsworth Park, encountering hippy campers at the Appalachian Mountain Club campsite in the Blue Hills, or when running with brother Bruce in the early 1970s- getting lost outside the Town Park in NA (before the industrial area was built) following power lines until we got to a street- and having to ask where we were. My father-in-law now lives maybe 100 yards from that site on Towne St. My favorite is my first run in the Blue Hills- March 1983. I began the run around 430PM. I followed paths I had never seen before, and got thoroughly lost. It started to get dark and I figured the only sure way to get home was to reverse direction. By the time I got back, it was quite close to being dark. As I came out of the woods, I encounter Pat with 3-year old Seamus in tow, and 9-month old Katie on her hip coming into the woods to find me. She had no idea if I had died out there or not. I ran there for 14 more years and found that I had made it 3/4 the way around Houghton's pond and was only perhaps a mile from the house when I turned around. I had to run three miles back.

Running is a lifetime sport with a lifetime of memories. I remember few road races- I never really liked them, but I remember many, many runs.