Running Douglas County By Steve Pierce

This book is dedicated to people with disabilities, especially those who deal with chronic pain.

And to those who love and care for them.

Losing the best thing a lifetime of running had brought and searching the entire county to find it.

[An excerpt from a runner’s forthcoming memoir of redline pain, recovery, renewal and maybe a little redemption at the end. The sense of being there is so strong, you almost want to add Steve Pierce’s miles to your own weekly total. But if his wonderful work teaches anything at all, it teaches THERE ARE NO SHORTCUTS.]

Sunday, 17 July 2022: I had seven-eighths of a section to run and had been leaving it for a Sunday. Today was the day. Seven-eighths? Last fall or winter I had to turn around in the middle of a mile on N400, so the one-eighth of the section, the half mile west of E800 has been marked off the map for months.

It was a pair of dogs that turned me around that morning. I’ve given you the mailbox rule and the barking rule. Here’s another thing I’ve learned from so many run-ins with canines. If the animal is getting too aggressive or too close, turning and facing it will pretty much always stop it in its tracks. I’ve had one dog on my runs here in Douglas County continue the pursuit after I had stopped and faced it. I’m no boxer, but I also have animal instinct. A short, quick right hook to its jaw after it lunged kept me from being bitten.

I have been bitten twice by dogs—both times from behind, and it was long ago when I was less experienced with handling them. It must be instinct that allows them to keep pursuing your backside but find your front side too intimidating. One bite was on the right gluteus maximus — I can feel it again just mentioning it — and the other on my calf. I couldn’t run for about five days after that one because of the bruising.

That morning, the two stopped when I faced them, but stayed aggressive and inched forward. I backpedaled a bit, felt okay about it, and started to turn to continue. They quickly came at me again. I stopped and bent over to pick up a handful of gravel. (That can also be effective.) In that short time, one of them circled about 135 degrees behind me, and that shook me up. I felt surrounded and that I was being worked by an experienced team. I screamed and threw the gravel into their half of the circle, which caught me a break. They backed off, and I headed back to the car. It was an out-and-back run, and I wasn’t about to mess with them again.

I figured that on a Sunday at 5:30 a.m. the chances of them being out were greatly reduced. As I approached the house, I found my pulse rate increasing—another natural, animal reaction. Closer, closer, and nothing happening. Past. Whew.

So, all that was left was to muscle my way through a hilly three-and-a-half-mile run in the summer heat and humidity. These are two beautiful sections. Running the mile on E700 from N400 to N500, you can see about half the square mile to the west and more than that of the section to the east. It’s pretty much all pasture—no plowed fields—and hilly. There was hay not yet cut in the field and hay bales lying around. The large round bales lying randomly in fields is always a pretty sight.

There’s a steep drop into a ravine on N500. The woods surrounding it with little pockets of cleared land were pretty, too.

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There is a finish line. Steve Pierce knows that’s true.

However, he also know it’s always just a few steps away…

Maybe some strides on a good day.

Steve Pierce has run his entire life.

He competed in cross country and track in high school, where he left with school records for the 1- and 2-mile. He continued into college, running at Wichita State University, then the University of Kansas. Afterwards, he took to the roads, racing frequently over distances from 10k to the marathon. In his thirties he turned to triathlon and duathlon, qualifying twice for the world age-group duathlon championships, and was ranked 14^th American at age 38.

Many years later, Steve had a hip replaced.

And tried to run again. This is that story.

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Illustrations from Running Douglas County. Photos by Steve Pierce.