Showing posts with label confessions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confessions. Show all posts

Thursday, April 9, 2009

I Have a Secret

No time for a real post today, but I just thought I’d share a secret on why I’ve never suffered a serious running injury. It’s because. . .

. . . I’m not human. I’m actually a machine. A Terminator!



Head on over to the promo site for Terminator: Salvation and you too can be a Terminator and maybe someday if you play your cards right, a Governator. I bet the Governator simulation involves high priced hookers and blow. Awesome.

Hat Tip to Warming Glow for the link.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

An Open Letter of Apology

During the last three and a half years that I have been a runner, I have occasionally found times for careful introspection. Recently in one of these introspective moments I looked deep into my soul and I found a fault. Not a substantial fault, but rather, some minor ugliness that wasn’t easily brushed aside by my typically aloof conscience. It gnawed at me for a good thirty seconds before I realized that the ugliness occurred in a public setting and it should be dealt with and apologized for in the same manner. The ugliness of which I speak? Peeing during my long runs.

To the two gentlemen building a swing set in their back yard who witnessed me peeing in the park, I apologize. It was unfortunate that I did not notice you before I started peeing and even more unfortunate that you DID notice me. Next time I shan’t whistle while I work so you’ll be less likely to spot me. Furthermore, I apologize to anyone who used the slide at the park later that day.

To the little girl in pigtails who was riding her bike and saw me peeing on that tree, I apologize. Ringing your bell and pedaling faster won’t make that memory go away. I apologize to you and to your parents who will have to deal with the emotional scarring and the therapy sessions.

To my fellow runner who saw me trying to dry the pee stain on the front of my shorts by vigorously rubbing the crotch, I apologize. It didn’t immediately occur to me how that must have looked to you, but rest assured I was trying to avoid embarrassment by drying the front of my pants, I was not ‘doing myself a favor’ as you succinctly put it.

To the elderly couple who saw me peeing off the side of the footbridge, I apologize, even though I’m sure you don’t think it necessary. Surely, no one understands better than the elderly that sometimes you can’t hold it any longer. Thank you for your understanding, and for averting your eyes.

To the female cyclist who startled me as I peed crouching behind a bush, I apologize. My remark for you to “take a picture it will last longer” was totally uncalled for and simply a knee jerk response to you seeing me peeing.

To the woman walking her dog downwind from where I was peeing, I apologize. It was unfortunate and completely unintentional that your Basset Hound took a direct hit and although I’m quite certain that he’s peed on my mailbox and deserved it, I was unaware that the wind could push the sprayback that far across the path.

To the owner of the lovely house that is situated at mile 7 of my favorite running trail, I apologize for the sorry state of the flowers that are now all but dead. It is an unfortunate coincidence that I always feel the need to pee when I run past your backyard and I assure you that it is in no way connected to the Yankees windsock that hangs on your porch. I apologize if I’ve caused you to question your gardening skills and assure you that there really isn’t anything wrong with the soil in that particular window box.

To the owner of the Ford Truck that is always parked half way up the curb on Reed Street, I apologize. You may have found yourself stepping in a puddle when entering or exiting your vehicle. There’s something about seeing Calvin peeing on a Chevy logo that reminds me that I need to go too.

To the first golfer to retrieve his ball from the hole on the 14th green I do apologize. The green is so nicely secluded among the trees and I can’t explain why it’s so much fun to pee into the cup while yelling “hole in one!” I apologize for my immaturity, I’ll try to grow up, and I’m sorry about the way your ball smells for the remainder of your round.

To the losers skateboarders who like to smoke pot and cigarettes while sitting around the big oak tree just off the school grounds, I apologize. You may have recently taken a seat and found it to be a little damp in spite of the recent lack of rain. I hope that having your pants so low helped you to notice it was wet sooner than someone with a regular waistline might have noticed. At least you’ve got that going for you, also please take this into consideration before deciding to re-use any of the old butts around the base of the tree, though this should really go without saying.

To the young boys who were unfortunate enough to witness me performing a range and targeting test on a warm evening in June, I apologize. In the future I’ll be sure the area is clear before commencing a weapons test. I also apologize to their parents who will no doubt be forced to clean up after they try their own weapons test, but let’s face it, they were going to think of it at some point anyway.

To the brave firemen who drove past me while I was peeing on a hydrant, I apologize. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I also apologize for signaling for you to sound the horn and shouting “I bet you’ve never seen a hose this big before!” It was completely uncalled for and I fully intend to wash off that hydrant before you need to use it again. I’ll let you know when I get around to it.

To anyone on the Denver Half Marathon course in 2007 who was desperate enough for hydration to pick up a used Gatorade cup from under the tree in the park, I apologize. It may have once been Gatorade, it was in me, but it had to come out.

To the cute blond running in the black skirt and pink tank top, I apologize. I know it’s too late now, but I instantly regretted saying “how YOU doin’?” when you saw me peeing behind that park bench.

To the entire Eagle Creek Elementary School who caught me on the field making a creek on their eagle, I apologize. I had no idea that you were about to come out for recess and I was not able to stop midstream. When does school get out for Winter Break anyway?

Finally, to my shoes, who always find themselves situated in the splash zone, I apologize.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

If I Did Run a Race as a Bandit Runner...

On the emphatic and ridiculously expensive advice of legal counsel (seriously, who makes $400/hour) I’m not admitting that I ran a race as a bandit runner, but if I did run a race as a bandit runner here’s how it happened. This story is an autobiographical account of how an anonymous runner (not me) would have run a race as a bandit runner if it ever did happen, which it didn’t, at least as far as you know.

It was August of 2005 (allegedly) and I had been running for a little over 4 months. I was a rookie, a greenhorn, still wet behind the ears in the world of running and I was visiting some friends in the small town of Malmouth, Fassachusetts (the letters have been transposed to protect the innocent me).

As we were making our vacation plans one of these friends informed me (purportedly) that several of them were going to be running the Falmouth Road Race (you probably can’t tell, but I transposed the first letters in “Road Race” too). I agreed to run with them and asked if I should go to the event website to register. “No, no, we’re all taken care of,” they said, which is hearsay and therefore inadmissible in court. It can’t be used against me. High five! So I naively went along with it, imagining that they somehow had a corporate sponsor that covered us all.

Race day came and we made our way to the starting area, without any bibs or timing chips or entry fees. We (allegedly) lined up a good 200 yards past the starting line on School Street (also transposed) with literally hundreds of other bandit runners. (This is where I employ the “everybody’s doing it” defense.) We waited for the starting gun, and then watched as all the bib-wearing, fee-paying suckers passed our street. Every time the last of the official entrants passed a side street, hundreds of bandits came pouring out behind them and we (reportedly) did the same.

I finished (unofficially) in about 1 hour 17 minutes. It was a 7 mile race which put me somewhere around 11 minute miles. It was the worst race of my life by a long shot, I was a lot slower back in ‘05 but I don’t think I was that much slower. It was humid, it was hot and I hated every minute of it. It almost caused me to quit running. And before anyone asks, yes, I took water and Gatorade (allegedly) at the water stops. It didn’t even occur to me that I was (purportedly) stealing it from runners who had bought it with their entry fees. Fortunately, the organizers didn’t run out of water or Gatorade *ahem, I’m looking at you Chicago* so I don’t feel too bad.

I had debated taking this dark little secret with me to the grave, but decided to share it in the hopes that you could all learn from it. I hope that you will take 3 things away from this:
1. If you bandit run a race it will be your worst. Count on it.
2. It wasn’t my fault and everyone was doing it.
3. Placing various spoonerisms (look it up) in your pseudo-confession totally absolves you from any legal actions.

All characters and events portrayed in this story are fictional and any resemblance to my real life is purely coincidental (or so my attorney would have you believe).