The Story (behind the story behind the story)

Spurred on by the success Cindy and I had finding homes for all six kittens found on Old Senoia Road over the Memorial Day weekend, a part of me that was dormant (translation: never existed) for much too long came alive.  I realized that if there was something I truly believed in (in this case the welfare of six orphaned kittens) I could indeed be a bona fide salesman.

Let me back up for a moment.  When I was a Scout (Cub, Boy—can’t remember for certain; immaterial, really) many years ago it seemed like I spent more time selling chocolate-covered Macademia nuts door-to-door (our family was living on Oahu at the time) than I did pitching a tent or sitting by a campfire sticking my fingers into cans of Vienna sausages.  In fact I’m pretty sure I earned a merit badge for Fundraising along the way.  But I hated every second of it.  I don’t know what I hated more: Asking people to part with their hard-earned money for some ridiculously overpriced candy, or the fact that I was terrible at it.  I was such a bad salesman I may as well have been selling lighter fluid to Smokey the Bear because the answer was always the same: No.

But as I said, finding homes for the six kittens proved I could be a salesman.  I just need a product I believe it.

Flash forward to a couple (four) decades later.  I had recently been recruited to endorse a particular brand of insoles for runners.  The pay was going to be commensurate with the pay I received for giving presentations to runners, writing regular columns for two regional running publications and serving as President of the Darkside Running Club; in other words, gratis.  The marketing department of the insole company knew I had written (at that time) three books about running and was going to be running in South Africa’s Comrades Marathon soon.  Coincidentally the insole company was located in Johannesburg, South Africa—where I would be flying into before heading over to Durban for the start of the race. 

So the insole company made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. 

‘If we pick you up at the Johannesburg airport and drive you to your lodging, would you mind signing 50 copies of A Few Degrees from Hell (my third book) so we can use it in a promotional campaign?’

Why yes, you certainly may. 

So the night Susan Lance and I flew into Johannesburg we met up with ‘Lutz’ and his business partner and they drive us to our armed and impenetrable bed and breakfast in the middle of downtown Johannesburg.  And yes, I did mean to say ‘armed and impenetrable’ (have you ever been to Johannesburg?) and the analogy to a fortress is most definitely intentional.  I signed 50 copies of my book and two days later I was interviewed by a reporter from South Africa’s Modern Athlete magazine for their special Comrades Marathon edition.  As I understood it, I was supposed to appear on the cover.  However as it turned out a local ‘biggest loser’ appeared on the cover (but in his defense, he did lose more weight than I’m currently lugging around…), but I did get a two-page spread near the front of the magazine—with plenty of photographs and an rather conspicuous ad for the insole I was promoting.

Although A Few Degrees from Hell had been selling reasonably well leading up to Comrades, afterwards sales went to a whole new level.  It was less than a year later that a ‘literary headhunter’ gave me a call asking me if I’d be interested in selling the rights to the book to a publisher located in Aachen, Germany.  I asked him how he knew of my book and he said the publisher tasked him with finding a running narrative book worthy of publication.  Apparently my book was appearing on whatever tracking mechanism he had in place to determine which books were selling reasonably well in the self-publishing world, and mine apparently had his attention. 

So after selling more than 4,000 copies of A Few Degrees from Hell with little or no marketing or promotion and after considerable time spent contemplating over whether or not to give the rights to my book to someone else. I decided it was time for me to ‘go global.’  After the first eight months with my new publisher an additional 900 copies of the book were sold.  (Did I mention I also signed over the movie rights to my book—should it in fact be turned into a movie?  I mention it because I signed over the movie rights to my book in case it is turned into a movie.  Not that the thought of it makes my head swell or anything.) 

Which brings me to what I did today: I began a one-person promotional campaign for my two latest books on Facebook (for Buy the Book Part 1 and Buy the Book Part 2).  Here’s what I posted:

I’ve never been known to be a salesman or a marketer, but I do have an offer that (I’m hoping) 10 of you can’t refuse:

The first 10 Facebook friends who send me a private message with their home address will receive a copy of Buy the Book! (either Part 1 or Part 2—no promises).  There are only three conditions:

1.      You have to read the entire book within five weeks of receipt (no skimming and no buying a copy of their respective CliffNotes).

2.     You then have to post a review of the book on Amazon (good, bad, indifferent—just be honest.).

3.     You have to post a review on Facebook (again—good, bad, indifferent).

Why am I doing this?  Let’s just say I believe in the law of geometric progression.  And I believe you’ll enjoy the books.

Believe me when I say I would have never considered doing something this bold if it wasn’t something I truly believed in.  But I do believe anyone who reads my books will enjoy them; I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.   As for the law of geometric progression, I’m counting on the 10 people reading the books to tell 10 of their friends about them who will then read the books and then tell 10 of their friends… 

I had my 10 commitments within 24 hours.  My sales pitch is over; now let’s see what the law of geometric progression can do.       

The Big One-Three-Five-Oh-Oh-Oh

Let’s pretend a smooth asphalt road completely encircles the earth and follows the exact path of the equator.  Now imagine my home in Peachtree City, Georgia is located on that road (it’s not, but we’re pretending, remember?).    

Now pretend I left my house for a run heading east and I ran every mile I’ve ever run in my life all at once without stopping.  

If all of these things were true, then I would have been running through Jhang, Pakistan this year on the last day of May. 

Actually, if I never strayed from that imaginary path on the equator I would have been running through Jhang for the sixth time, as that was the day I ran my 135,000^th lifetime mile. 

As you may have already gathered I have kept pretty diligent records of my running for the past 35+ years.  My running logs have at least one entry every single day since November 30, 1978.  The last day I failed to run—November 29, 1978—was due to an unfortunate problem with my stomach caused by something I inflicted on myself the day before.  It could have been one of two things: (1) Running 13 miles to win a bet with my college professor who knew the longest distance I ever ran was only eight miles, or (2) drinking a couple of celebratory pitchers of beer afterwards, complements of my college professor paying off his lost wager.  Now that I think about it, it was probably a little bit of both. 

I’ve been a slave to numbers for as long as I can remember.  I have always set mileage goals for myself: Weekly, monthly and yearly.  In my prime if I set a goal of running 90 miles in a week, I would ‘load up’ on the front end of the week to ensure that by the time the week was drawing to a close I would be assured of reaching my target.  Inevitably this led to weeks of 100 or more miles because I would usually finish the week the same way it started: With high mileage. (You can imagine the results when this philosophy is extended into months and years of running.  That being said 135,000 miles in 35 years should really come as no surprise.)

As for being a slave to numbers, I have historically tried to tie in ‘milestone mileage’ plateaus with something of significance in my running career.  For instance I reached 100,000 lifetime miles as I crossed the finish line of the 2005 Atlanta Marathon (one of my favorite races) and 125,000 miles on the 50-yard line of Florida Field in 2011 amidst a welcoming entourage consisting of my wife, the University of Florida cheerleaders and what-Gator-celebration-would-be-without school mascots Albert and Alberta Alligator.

So I meticulously planned my week leading up to the culmination of running my 135,000^th mile as I wanted it to be at the exact same spot where one week earlier Al, Amanda and I found six abandoned kittens on the side of the road.  It required a 20-mile run on Monday and a total of 41 miles the rest of the week, but it was well worth the effort.  When Al, Amanda and I reached the nine-mile mark of our 10-mile Saturday morning run, we stopped to let the moment soak in.  One hundred and thirty-five thousand miles.  The adoption of all six kittens less than a week ago.  Another exhilarating, never-taken-for-granted run in the country.  Good health.  Camraderie.  Physical fitness.  Friendship.  The simplicity and purity of running.

The moment was special for a lot of reasons.  It made me think of all the other special moments in my life, all of which I could affix a number to if I had the urge (that number being my lifetime running mileage at that point in time):

·      The day Cindy and I moved from Florida to Georgia. 

·      The births of both of our sons. 

·      The deaths of Cindy’s parents.

·      The deaths of my parents.

·      The birth of our grandson.

·      The day we moved into our new house in Peachtree City.

·      The days both of our sons graduated from high school and for one of them, college.

·      The day I said goodbye to a company I was with for 24 years.

·      The day I said hello to a company I have been with ever since.

But assigning a number to these moments would be the wrong thing to do.  You can’t put a number, any number—whether it be mileage, value or importance on a scale of one-to-ten—on the moments that define your life.

With that thought in mind I’m going to try my very best to quit placing numerical goals on myself.  Lord knows I’ve tried cutting back on my mileage over the years but I’ll be the first to tell you the success has been negligible.  If whether or not I’ve been successful at ‘cutting back’ was up for debate, a novice debater might argue I have indeed been running fewer miles the past couple of years and therefore have successfully ‘cut back.’  However, a veteran debater might concede I’m running fewer miles but that I’m still spending as much time on the roads since I’m running considerably slower than in years past and therefore have not technically ‘cut back.’ 

However, a master debater could bring the whole matter to an abrupt close by pointing out the obvious: Successfully ‘cutting back’ requires less mileage AND less time spent running.  (Note: There is no such thing as a ‘master debater.’  I just wanted to use it in print to see if it was as much fun reading it as it was hearing it said out loud.  Note to note: It’s not.)

So today I vow to quit placing mileage goals on myself.  I don’t need the stress, the pressure or the demand of running X miles each week, each month or each year. 

As long as I can run my 150,000^th lifetime mile by the time I turn 65…

Postscript: The evening of May 31^st Cindy and I attended a Collective Soul concert.  The encore consisted of two songs: Shine followed by the finale Run.  You may be familiar with the last line of the song, which is repeated several times before the song comes to an end:

Have I got a long way to run?

Karma can be a bitch.  Or perhaps my ally.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

It’s up for debate.