And to Think That I Saw It on My Long Run

When I leave for my long run my wife always tells me,
“Honey, keep your eyelids up and see what you can see.”
But when I return all agog, with a great post for my blog,
She sternly tells me, “Your eyesight’s too keen, like a wary guard dog.”
“Stop telling such outlandish tales. Stop turning minnows into whales.”

Now what can I blog about when I get home today?
All the way to the lake and all the way back,
I’ve looked and I’ve looked and I’ve kept careful track.
But all that I’ve noticed, while running ahead,
Was a woman with a bottle balanced high on her head.

That’s nothing to tell of, that’s far too dull,
Just a woman with a water bottle perched on her skull.

That can’t be my blog post, that’ll never do,
Instead of just one bottle, I’ll say it was two!
And that is a blog post that can’t be outdone,
When I say that it happened on my long, slow run.

Yes two bottles is fine, but it’s still kinda’ mellow,
She’ll be joggling instead, with seven balls that are yellow.
And the story would really be easier to embrace,
If we were joggling together at a blistering pace.
Yes, two speedy jogglers is nothing to shun,
When I say that it happened on my long, slow run.

But a spectacle like this deserves a large crowd,
I’ll add some more runners and fans that are loud,
A cyclist to salute us as he passes us by,
But not any old cyclist, it’s that Lance Armstrong guy,
And who is that swimming out in the lake?
It’s Mike Phelps himself, creating a wake.

The crowds push and they elbow to see all the drama,
VIPs have shown up, including McCain and Obama!
“You should be President,” they cheered from the side,
And that thought alone made me want to go hide.

Now that is a story that’s second to none,
When I say that I saw it on my long, slow run.

But now I don’t know, it doesn’t seem right,
We’d pass the crowd in a blur and be fast out of sight.
They’ll need a jumbotron screen with ultra slow-mo,
That stands 4 stories high and gives a good show.
Watch nationwide coverage on NBC,
But not until primetime so more people can see.

Yes, that makes a story that’s really not bad!

But it still could be better.

Suppose that I add...

... the Goodyear blimp circling the skies,
A bicycle chase team with plenty of supplies,
A police escort in front to make the path clear,
A truck with our times displayed on the rear,
A pace team to guide us around every bend...
No time for more, we’re close to the end.

I swung ‘round the corner and dashed through the gate,
I ran up the steps and I felt simply GREAT!

FOR I HAD A BLOG POST THAT COULDN’T BE OUTDONE!

AND TO THINK THAT I SAW IT ON MY LONG, SLOW RUN!

But my wife said quite calmly, when I returned from my jogging,

“Now what did you see? Was there anything worth blogging?”

Oh, where to begin? I HAD SO MUCH TO SHARE!

But my wife looked at me sharply with a skeptical glare.

She raised up an eyebrow and quietly said,
“Was there nothing to look at... no tales you can spread?
Is there no story to be woven, not even a thread?”

“Nothing,” I said, my face turning beet red,
“But a woman with a bottle perched high on her head.”


With apologies to Dr. Seuss.

There Once Was a Man from Nantucket...

Just a short post today as I have another article up over at CRN. For some reason I was inspired to try my hand at limericks. I don’t know why.

There once was a runner called Half-Fast,
Whose limericks were quite unsurpassed.
He gave it a try,
Without knowing why,
And discovered he was having a blast.

Now Half-Fast had a pair of Mizunos,
And he frequently lamented their woes.
When the snow came in dumps,
They turned into pumps,
And when you’re trying to run, that blows!

The Mizunos ad group must be full of deceit,
But I suppose it would be hard to compete,
If you played a fair game,
And your slogan became;
“It’s like getting kicked in the nuts for your feet!”

Now I sent them off to Reuse-A-Shoe,
Without even bidding them a formal adieu,
Then I told them a lie,
With a gleam in my eye,
“This hurts me much more than it hurts you.”

If you don’t know what the Reuse-A-Shoe program is then you should go and read my post over at CRN, Your Right to Shoes. Writing that article is partially what inspired this post. Do you think that Mizuno will be contacting me to offer me free shoes anytime soon?

I Think I Can...

I’ve never claimed that Half-Fast is motivational or inspirational or any other kind of -ational. This has been a tough week to get runs in for some reason which is why my mileage for the week is 0, and probably why my other two posts this week have been focused on drinking and quitting. Drinking and quitting sounds really good right about now.

I found this poem in one of my kid’s books that adequately sums up my mood. It’s from Shel Silverstein’s book Where The Sidewalk Ends and is titled The Little Blue Engine.

The little blue engine looked up at the hill.
His light was weak, his whistle was shrill.
He was tired and small, and the hill was tall,
And his face blushed red as he softly said,
“I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”

So he started up with a chug and a strain,
And he puffed and pulled with might and main.
And slowly he climbed, a foot at a time,
And his engine coughed as he whispered soft,
“I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”

With a squeak and a creak and a toot and a sigh,
With an extra hope and an extra try,
He would not stop - now he neared the top -
And strong and proud he cried out loud,
“I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!”

He was almost there, when - CRASH! SMASH! BASH!
He slid down and mashed into engine hash
On the rocks below... which goes to show
If the track is tough and the hill is rough,
THINKING you can just ain’t enough!

Excuses

"I cannot run this race today,"
Said Half-Fast, while in bed he lay.
"I pulled my hamstring and my groin,
I have a serious swelling in every loin.
My feet are blistered, my ankle's sprained,
And what if I have over-trained?
My arches have fallen to the floor,
My body feels like it's ninety-four,
I've got shin splints, athlete's foot and stitches,
And now my kneecap really itches.
My heel is burdened by Achilles Tendonitis,
Or it might just be Plantar Fasciitis,
Either way I should stay at home,
And not risk Patellofemoral Syndrome.
My feet are too slow, my legs are too fast,
And what if I keep getting passed?
I once heard that running can cause arthritis,
I'm already developing Hip Bursitis.
My quad's are too loose, my hamstring's too tight,
My left leg's faster than my right.
My calves have turned a dark shade of orange,
I got my toe caught in a door-hinge,
It caused a muscle tear, just partial,
And I know it broke my metatarsal.
I have Iliotibial Band Syndrome, or I.B.S.
And look! My hair is such an awful mess.
I dislocated my funny bone,
I'm sure I suffer from Plica Syndrome,
I have Tennis Elbow, and my belly is -- what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today's the scheduled pre-race rest day?
G'bye, I’m off to carbo-load and eat soufflé."

Inspired by Shel Silverstein's poem 'Sick' which can be found in the book 'Where The Sidewalk Ends'. The orange/door hinge rhyme didn't work so well, but I've always wanted to try to rhyme something with orange and that was the best I could do. Yes, I know that Iliotibial Band Syndrome is technically shortened to 'ITBS' but 'I BS' seemed a much more apt abbreviation for my purposes. What are you a doctor?