The home stretch. Start up that Chariots of Fire song. Well... in six months.
Much like that photo you see below with Otis and his
mangled toe crossing the finish line of the Mastodon Weekend half-marathon and
the slightly less-blooded foot of yours truly about 30 seconds behind in the
orange circle, my time for running is coming to a close end.
No, not the new/old fitness craze that infected more than
a few of my fellow degenerate friends, as that form of motion has been moved
indoors for the duration of the winter as Minnesota tends to get cold during
the time between Santa Claus and leprechaun visits. Taking 20 minutes to prepare for a run by grabbing
three insulated forms of Gore-Tex while staving off hypothermia and frostbite
do not excite me. Instead, thanks to a
generous co-worker, I have taken up running on a treadmill for the first time. My humble observation is that the human hamster wheel feels much like having
sex with a condom on. If you’re doing it
right you still get sweaty but you miss the extra sensations that outdoor
running (and sex?) provides. At least it will keep
me in decent shape to start up again since this summer finishing a marathon
seems like a fun thing to do.
Gibbs Rule #29: Don't Suck (image credit)
Freed up time for training will come after finishing seven
classes for my bachelor’s degree and a small bit of time for a celebration worthy
of something that has taken over my life and thoughts for the past three and a
half years. At a stop light between
Highway 169 and County Road 30 at 5:45am, before sitting down for a rare NCIS
marathon with my wife, looking out towards the dimly lit backyard from my porch
after a long night of reporting, all spots that usually bring a quick tear to
my eye while thinking about a handshake and a piece of paper that will soon
come into my possession.
The dream was supposed to die after hopping on a plane
from Sky Harbor airport to MSP. The
dream was supposed to die after getting knocked in the head and becoming an
anti-social hermit for eight years. But,
after several drunken and sober fireside chats at the trailer cabin and a leap
of faith with my finances six months separate me from that degree and that
handshake that is so vivid in those daydreams.
There is no end however.
The degree is not the end-of-the-road and time to kick up my feet on the
L-shaped couch and start up yet another Gibbs versus the system viewing party
or drink myself under that same piece of furniture. Instead it’s just another piece of a second
chance on life and making the most of it with self, my family, and my
friends. Definitely will not miss the strict
APA formatting, late nights of researching dead philosopher’s thoughts on
internet porn, or saying the words “daddy is busy with school right now”, those
will pass into the same memories of 2am feedings of kids that are now in 1st
and 4th grade. Tough times
that add to one’s exterior for the next challenge and one after that. Much like running a 5K, then 10K, then a
half-marathon, and with luck and hopefully no bloody appendages, 26.2 miles in
around four hours 30 minutes.
A side note for Felicia…
I looked through 2005 and couldn’t find my deaf notepad, sorry. But, I did manage to slide out of the house for some poker this past week at Canterbury Downs. A little over two hours and ZERO drinks later my small entry fee was given to someone else after finishing 7/40 when the big blind woke up with a hand better than mine. THE NERVES!
