If on leaving a trailhead, you only glance at your watch to have an idea of when you need to be back, parts of this book will be for you.
If when crossing a desert valley, you wonder what it is like to run in the silence and solitude way out there, parts of this book will be for you.
If wading across a beaver pond during a run seemed the only logical thing to do, parts of this book will be for you.
If you ever thought of running fifty miles in one day, parts of this book will be for you.
If you sometimes went out after sunset for a run because you saw a cloudless sky and you wanted to run under a visible night sky, parts of this book will be for you.
If you need to be out there where running with pauses continues to be just as important as the occasional run with the stopwatch on, then Run Gently Out There is for you.
Go along with the author as he takes you on a run that is not about anyone in particular, rather it is about what makes running trails and ultramarathons become a love affair with being out there and how running becomes part of a way of living.
About the Author: Widely unacclaimed as a writer, bearer of bad jokes, and possessing a poor memory for what went wrong last time, John Morelock is currently an almost retired whale spotter, mirage analyst, baker, wool gatherer, maintainer of trails, and nature lecturer. Morelock took up running on August 17, 1984 at 4:33 in the afternoon and completed his first ultramarathon in January of 1986. He has long since completed several more ultramarathons; most of them in the Pacific Northwest, but also in places as diverse as Texas, Colorado, Tennessee, and Arkansas. He established his trail running credentials early by successfully returning to the trailhead where he had left the car on many training runs in the Olympic and Cascade Mountains. Although largely unfocused as a racer, he managed a victory in each of his first two decades of running, one at the 100-kilometer distance and one at the more standard 34.5-mile venue. In 2002 he noted that his total running miles had reached 50,027. Having accomplished this feat without once kicking or tripping over a porcupine he reasoned that it was a good point at which to quit tracking such things and made no more log entries. Now, with time slipping by, philosophical meandering and trailside distractions have led to less racing and more running with pauses. He lives on Whidbey Island in Washington state enjoying the trails with his wife, Kathy, who took him on a different ultraventure in 2004; a 600ish mile pilgrimage across Spain during which he once helped the nuns in León, Spain bake the morning's bread--a wonderful day in León before continuing westerly on the way to Santiago.
