About a month ago I reconnected with a couple of old athletes of mine. It wasn't much of a re-connection, in the sense that we had actually talked a handful of times over the past few years. But it had been sometime since I'd last seen them.

They were, after all, my first experience (and challenge) into coaching: a hard-nosed, no nonsense female who had speed to back up her big mouth. And her complete opposite, a soft-spoken boy with Romeo looks and a steadfast work ethic.

I inherited them as a coach, but they quickly became my kids. My Captains. I had earned their trust.

My male Captain went on to play Lacrosse at the University of Reno. While up at the State Championship two years back when I was still coaching (and sending kids to State every year - no hard feelings), he and I toasted over a cold one. He had just turned 21. He's on the five-year college plan, and still playing Lacrosse (which, not surprisingly, he is the Captain of the team).

My female Captain, on the other hand, was the first athlete I coached who went on to run at the collegiate level. She ran Division I, locally at the University of Las Vegas, Nevada. (So did another female athlete of mine who graduated with her.)

She finished the year as their #4 runner, and then after an all-out battle with her phony coach the following winter - she quit (and so did the other female athlete I coached who graduated with her). Invariably, she lost her scholarship. She went on to graduate a year early with a degree in Anthropology.

The following weekend, after they had been to my house to see my kids and eat some grub, my old female Captain comes knocking on my door dressed to run.

I've been on over 100 runs alone now, ever since I lost my team, and my best friend (my dog) lost her health. Every morning I debate on whether or not I should go. Every morning it's just me, the lonely desert, a stray car or two, a sore back, and tired legs. But I do it regardless.

But on this day, when she came to my house ready to run, and even though I was feeling like doing anything but hitting the road, I obliged and laced up as well. And that run, a simple three mile scamper through the trailed desert behind my house, was the best time I had on a run in a long, long time.

I had life in my legs. The desert, normally void of everything except rock and shrubs, was suddenly alive and thriving with life. My back and neck pain dulled to the point where I hit I pace I hadn't come close to in a long time when running - every morning - alone.

And today I hit 33 years of age. And like I have been doing every morning since school started, I fed Rogue (my best friend, and one of my old running partners) her 7 morning pills, took a pre-run dump, laced up, waved to my pooch who slouched on the cool tile by the front door to wait for my return.

It took me a while to trudge the measly two-mile loop. But when I eventually made it back, my girl struggled to her feet and greeted me like she always does now. And that was enough to make today a beautiful one.