I leave it to others to wonder about the chicken. Me, I can't help but wonder, "Why does the worm cross the road?"

Oh yes, I'm all about the serious metaphysical questions.

It was misting lightly when I looked out the window this morning. In a fit of what can only be termed temporary insanity I pulled on My Silver Running Shoes Which Have Absolutely No Super Powers (and don't think I've gotten over my bitterness over the lack of super powers Because I Have Not) and went off to do a brief 20 minute run.

I hit the main road and everywhere there were worms crossing. There were veritable waves of worms worming their way from one side of the road to the other.

Now to me this makes no sense. I mean on either side of the road you have your woods, your grassy verges, and in one place an actual lawn. These strike me as worm friendly places. The road I was running on was gravel, full of sharp rocks and well, mud. It had been salted all winter so I'm sure it was salty, too.

And yet the worms were determined to cross this very inhospitable terrain.

Is this some sort of macho worm thing?

Are these the Extreme Worms, the Iron Worms?

Or are these the Crazy Worms, the worms driven mad by a cruel world That Just Doesn't Understand The Worm Gestalt?

Oh, the things you think about when you're running on a misty morning.

Whoever they were, they made this morning's run extremely challenging because, well, I did not want to step on any of the reckless worms. I'm sure that if there was anyone watching me during the running portion of this morning's little fitness fit they were sure that I was on some sort of drug. There I was, running in odd patterns in the road to run around worms and at other times I would actually break into little leaps to jump over worms.

Wait. It gets worse.

During the walking portion I bent down, picked up, and carried the worms in my path from the road into the grass on the other side. Oh be quiet. Worms Are Our Friends. Anyone who gardens loves them because their presence means the soil is healthy and alive with organic matter. They are nature's little compost engines.

Yes, this morning I added yet another title to my resum�. This morning I became Marn, Worm Wrangler.

You realize what's next, eh?

Why a cowboy hat and a teensy tiny lasso, OF COURSE.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 277.93 miles (447.2 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers