For those of you that have been following this blog from the beginning (so what if it was three weeks ago?), you know that I’m an avid runner. With seven marathons, a few 10 milers and 10Ks, and a zombie survival race (more on 2012’s iteration to follow later this Fall) on my running resume, I’ve probably spent well over 1,000 hours pounding the pavement.
The first rule of running that every non-pretentious/elitist runner will tell you is that having a legit playlist is paramount to a successful run. It can change your entire outlook on the run, before, during, and especially after. But what fills the awkward seconds of silence between this and this? Without further ado, here are five things that run through my mind when I’m out running.
1) “I Could Take This Guy” – I want to preface this statement by saying that, while some may define me as a bro, I am in no way a violent person. I’ve actually never been in a fistfight in my entire life. I’m 6 flat and weigh in at a buck sixty. The only guy I could really “take” in a fight is Bart but he’s too much of a bitch to chessbox me.
Anyways, any time I see a guy running towards me, I instantly vilify said bro into the antagonist of my run. The next 20-30 seconds become exhilarating. It’s like that problem from high school math class, only better: If one guy is 150 feet away running a 8:30 mile pace and I’m running towards him at a 6:15 mile pace, at what point do I kick his ass? As the distance between us grows shorter and shorter, the anticipation builds to epic proportions. I plan my opening move – a swift leg kick to his plant foot sending him tumbling to the ground. From there, it’s all ground-based tactics. My sensei – McCannon’s dad – taught me well. There’s a myraid of moves you can go to once your opponent is down, such as the Australian Backbreaker, the Boston Crab, the Egg, and let us not forget the Stump Puller. More of these to come in a future post.
2) “This Chick’s Totally Into Me” – Between the hours of 6PM and 8PM, there’s no shortage of honeys that are out and about getting their workout on. I mean, that’s half the reason I’m out there running anyways. And if there’s one thing I’ve come to learn in my four plus years of running, it’s that every chick that’s out running is totally into me. How do I know they’re totally into me? How could you not be?
Every interaction I’ve ever had with a female runner starts with her making direct eye contact with either my abnormal chest (more to come in point #5) or my meat flopping around like it’s at an Italian deli. Embarrassed by the prolonged eye contact, our heroine darts her look and stares into my soul, pupil to pupil. With just seconds left before we pass each other, I give the obligatory wink, receive a smile in return, and we’re both on our merry way. Yeah, she’s totally into me.
3) “Get Out of My Fucking Way” – For awhile, we debated keeping the location of the PO writing staff a secret. But I’m about to go Behind the Laughter on you – we call the Nation’s Capital home. I’ll leave the aforementioned “Nation” up to your own imagination (disregard the national landmark in the picture above when you conduct your Nation-narrowing research). Being located in the capital means we have so. many. fucking. tourists. Especially in prime running season. Hell, I could probably make a Friday Five all about the ways different tourist groups fuck with my run. Asians? Walk side by side and consume the entire sidewalk. Indians? Walk in single file (male always in front) right in the middle of the damn sidewalk. And don’t even get me started on Segway tourists.
My million dollar idea, if I can ever find the angel funding for it, would be to make a running harness that went over your shoulders and wrapped behind your back for lumbar support. Attached to this harness would be a bulldozer that extended about five feet in front of you (adjustable depending on your stride length) and sent people who were either a) too slow, b) taking up too much room, or c) fat, flying in every possible direction.
4) “If Shit Goes Down, I’m Outties” – The best part of running is that you already have inertia carrying you forward in case shit goes down. Let’s say, for instance, you’re running down a city block and you see a homeless man at the next street corner. He stares you down because obviously, you’re not going to be making a contribution today. Even this guy knows that only losers run with money or other aids that can help them in case they turn an ankle. So you’re running down the street, minding your own business, jamming out to the next hot Carly Rae Jepsen track, looking at the homeless guy – OH SHIT HE HAS A KNIFE! Taste it homeless guy…you’re in beast mode. You have a head start on getting away from this crazy fuck. With any luck, he’ll kill some of the people mentioned in point #3 and will later be awarded the Medal of Honor.
5) “I Look Good as Shit” – If there’s one thing that’s been lost on me over time, it’s a sense of modesty. I secrete hubris. In fact, one of the code names I considered to adopt for this blog was Narcissus, but I don’t need a damn lake to tell me I look good. All I have to do is don my white running shorts, lace up my shoes, rock a head band and take off for a nine mile run to get my daily confidence boost. But Rudolph, didn’t you forget a shirt? Yeah. On purpose.
I was blessed with having this weird chest thing that makes me a natural stunt double for Kane in Alien. My chest looks like it could burst open at any second with the matured seed of a face hugger. When I was younger, I was extremely self-conscious about this. In high school, at a pool party, a girl I was kinda into at the time asked me to “put it away because nobody wants to see that”.
Well you know what Lauren S.? Go fuck yourself. Because now I prance around everywhere without my shirt on. Plus, my junk flopping around in white shorts doesn’t hurt either. Women want to be with me and men want to be me.