Friday, Jul. 11, 2003
Dear Diary:

There's this insanely gorgeous blonde woman who works out at my gym from time to time and, as I've mentioned in the past, whenever she walks in the door every guy in the room sucks in his stomach, creating the sort of oxygen deprivation normally only seen at the peak of Everest.

I am embarrassed to admit that deep, deep in my heart I have made fun of these men. I used to think to myself, "Please. Gentlemen. Get a grip. No One Is Fooled Here."

I can no longer mock them.

I am embarrassed to admit that a few days ago I did the equivalent.

I am so ashamed.

It has to do with running.

Since I'm confessing all my sins, let me start off by admitting that I have not been keeping up with my running on the road in the valley. Oh, I have some perfectly valid reason I could give you:

1) It's been extremely hot and humid here for the last few weeks.
2) The deer flies are the size of condors and are particularly voracious.
3) It's been extremely hot and humid here for the last few weeks.

Oh. Wait. I said that last one already.

So yeah, I have a few perfectly valid reasons to explain why I haven't done any running recently on the road down in the valley.

Ah, but we both know the truth, eh? I haven't been running because I am lazy. Also, I find it stupidly tedious. That runner's high they talk about? Never, ever come anywhere near it, unless the words "runner's high" are a synonym for the notion "I'm so bored that I want to throw myself in the river and end it all right this minute".

Those high priced silver running shoes that looked like super hero footwear, but came with no discernable super powers at all, have mostly been walking to and from my car as I drive to the gym. I think that we can all agree that this is not the life they envisaged for themselves back in that sweatshop where they grew up.

When I woke up Wednesday, I could feel that the humidity was gone and the temperatures had dropped quite a bit. Overwhelmed with guilt, I reluctantly left the spousal unit and the kitties softly snoring in our much too comfy bed, did my stretch routine, and then headed down the hill to run.

You will notice that nowhere in that previous paragraph is there any mention of any appearance enhancing activities. Yes, I actually sallied forth in public in a paint spattered tee shirt, some ill fitting jeans and a case of bed head so severe that it kept even the deer flies at bay.

Now normally, when I run, I don't see a soul. We live about a mile from the end of an unpaved, dead end road, after all. So I ran from my house to the end of the road and back up to our drive, running eight minutes, walking two minutes. I was tired, but figured I had enough zip left to run a bit more, so I headed past our drive.

I had just about decided that it was time to stop running and take a walking interval when I heard a car coming up behind me. It was our neighbour, Clara. The Olympian. One of four people EVER to have medaled in both summer and winter Olympics. She is one of the sweetest, most down to earth, least pretentious people you are ever going to meet.

Yet, at the sight of her, I immediately decided that I could not stop running. There is absolutely no rational reason for this. I was tired. It was time to walk. But oh, no, I HAD to keep running. Clara slowed down to give me a little encouragement and a thumbs up.

Was my posturing fooling anyone? Uh, no. The conversation was pretty much one-sided, me replying with nods, grunts and grins because I couldn't spare the oxygen to actually form, you know, words. My calves were burning. My eyes burned from the sweat running into them. It seemed like hours, but it was probably less than a minute before she drove on.

Wait, it gets worse. I actually kept running until her car turned a bend in the road and THEN I started walking.

Clearly, I was dropped on my head as a child, and probably more than once.

So to every man that I've ever seen suck in his gut and hold it to the point where he's almost passed out from oxygen deprivation? I want you to know I understand completely now and I take back everything I ever said or thought about that.

Really.

I mean it.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 339.89 miles (545.4 kilometers) Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck. Half way smoochTen percent there rubber duck.
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers

Going Nowhere Collaboration

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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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