Race Number 36 (pic on right is from the Colfax)
Ok, reader……It is time to exercise your mind….I exercised my finely tuned body today….. so YOU can at least bear with me as we address this race in High Elizabethan discourse…..
I relate this dreary anecdote only to acquaint the person who partakes of this treatise with the type of person’s that may be encountered in a footrace not unlike the one doth called the Estes Park Half Marathon effected at 7,700 feet of elevation and torrents of rain.
I ran, nearly the whole footrace behind a wretched man of advanced age. I assure you, I will prejudice you against him. We will call him Mr. W (for Wretched, of course) It must be said that Mr. W made of himself a most vexing presence, and it is in this particular that the author is compelled to manifest his grievances against him in the interest of compatibilities and harmonies, for it is said of the company running in footraces of distance together, that “Tis agreeable to slander thy mate, but not to lay thy hand, in closed fashion, upon his face.” Thus, I resort to lexis.
He (Mr. W) finds pleasant that most noxious habit of spitting and farting while running, and doth contrive to pollute the air and surface wheresoever he runs. This very morning I was running pleasantly along the trail at this Half Marathon of Estes Park, when Mr. W appeared by my side at mile four and without so much as a by-your-leave, plunked his person beside me, matching my foot strikes. It was the work of moments to convert my quiet running area into a ghetto dwelling of odors, sounds and wrenchings which doth were produced from this man whoest was far along in age.
He had come, I said to myself, to trouble my quietude. Why doth you not repair to some other part of the course whereth you may contrive your animal-sty or whicheversoever environment you pleaseth?
Of course, he made no answer to my entreaty (because I did not asketh him), but continued his farting and spitting, shortly followed be great braying and imprecating against our Maker for making of the cold and heavy rain that falleth upon us. So self-absorbed did he becometh in his conundrum with his jarring, that he payeth no mind to where his gaseous expellations flieth, to wit, into various of my tender membranes, such as the eyes, nose and mouth. When one had asked if he might trouble to cause this detritus to be positioned elsewhere, he makes no sign of comprehending, and continueth with his measures.
It was not long before I found that Mr. W possesseth a genius for causing a bruit without acquainting himself with its results. Whilst running through the station for water, he leaped across my person to procure the object relating to this station, (thus sayeth…. Gatorade); in doing so, he brushed against my person, stepping upon my forefoot, causing me to stumble. I gnashed my teeth and made a great keening to make manifest my pain. Yet he remarked not one iota on my consternation, and merely continued his plodding.
Not two miles later, another disaster befell me thanks to his agency. At the next station to procure refreshment, I had taken a cup of cool Gatorade with a plump slice of orange to ward off the scurvy. The cup, I had placed along my side, buttressed against my loins by means of my arm so that I might partake of the luscious slice of orange. It wanted no small amount of ingenuity to consternate the precious Gatorade, but hark, here comes Mr. W, and mark, soon my painstakingly prepared beverage was a chaos of orange splotches which coursed from one end of my suit of running, like the River Lethe, a torrent of sugary substance that staineth and corrodeth everything in its path.
Every man hath his limits, and after what seemed a fortnight of enduring these and other affronts which shall go unmentioned, I resolved that to keep murder out of my heart, I would mount counter-vexations! Thereupon I seized the opportunity to fill my mouth with a congeal of liquids made available by the maidens at the next station for refreshment. He noticed not the thievery and I began to suppose him oblivious to the greater part of that which taketh place around him—indeed, he went on with his way whilst I ran before him. The dark thought loomed not distantly in my cerebellum that he might falleth upon the cobblestones due to the onset of all matter of liquid come pouring from my mouth and he would dodge and be stumbled down by the derbies of my mouth, thus, serving him in the office of "road kill" as he lay splattered on the ground.
Perhaps I rageth out of proportion to the crime. Certainly I did not desireth that Mr. W be hurteth or maimed. He may be, in many respects, an excellent fellow (even a father of grand, like me), and he may knoweth a great quantity of celebrities with whom might pursue me to do me harm. But he had continueth in his ways, making serpentine progress while running near me, causing me to jibe and folk and to be pitched from mine intended course and making his copious nuisances upon my company. So then, I was resolved to put him at bay, leaving him to wonder at the mysterious liquid which emanateth from my mouth and thus caused him to fall.
I prayed, meanwhile, as I left the scene, I would not be provoked to any other such extremity of retaliation for it appeared that my manifestations had succeeded. I completed the race without concern again for Mr. W. The vexations had worked and the airs were clear and the path not covered in spittle from mile numbered ten and on. The rain was bad enough.
Ok, reader……It is time to exercise your mind….I exercised my finely tuned body today….. so YOU can at least bear with me as we address this race in High Elizabethan discourse…..
I relate this dreary anecdote only to acquaint the person who partakes of this treatise with the type of person’s that may be encountered in a footrace not unlike the one doth called the Estes Park Half Marathon effected at 7,700 feet of elevation and torrents of rain.
I ran, nearly the whole footrace behind a wretched man of advanced age. I assure you, I will prejudice you against him. We will call him Mr. W (for Wretched, of course) It must be said that Mr. W made of himself a most vexing presence, and it is in this particular that the author is compelled to manifest his grievances against him in the interest of compatibilities and harmonies, for it is said of the company running in footraces of distance together, that “Tis agreeable to slander thy mate, but not to lay thy hand, in closed fashion, upon his face.” Thus, I resort to lexis.
He (Mr. W) finds pleasant that most noxious habit of spitting and farting while running, and doth contrive to pollute the air and surface wheresoever he runs. This very morning I was running pleasantly along the trail at this Half Marathon of Estes Park, when Mr. W appeared by my side at mile four and without so much as a by-your-leave, plunked his person beside me, matching my foot strikes. It was the work of moments to convert my quiet running area into a ghetto dwelling of odors, sounds and wrenchings which doth were produced from this man whoest was far along in age.
He had come, I said to myself, to trouble my quietude. Why doth you not repair to some other part of the course whereth you may contrive your animal-sty or whicheversoever environment you pleaseth?
Of course, he made no answer to my entreaty (because I did not asketh him), but continued his farting and spitting, shortly followed be great braying and imprecating against our Maker for making of the cold and heavy rain that falleth upon us. So self-absorbed did he becometh in his conundrum with his jarring, that he payeth no mind to where his gaseous expellations flieth, to wit, into various of my tender membranes, such as the eyes, nose and mouth. When one had asked if he might trouble to cause this detritus to be positioned elsewhere, he makes no sign of comprehending, and continueth with his measures.
It was not long before I found that Mr. W possesseth a genius for causing a bruit without acquainting himself with its results. Whilst running through the station for water, he leaped across my person to procure the object relating to this station, (thus sayeth…. Gatorade); in doing so, he brushed against my person, stepping upon my forefoot, causing me to stumble. I gnashed my teeth and made a great keening to make manifest my pain. Yet he remarked not one iota on my consternation, and merely continued his plodding.
Not two miles later, another disaster befell me thanks to his agency. At the next station to procure refreshment, I had taken a cup of cool Gatorade with a plump slice of orange to ward off the scurvy. The cup, I had placed along my side, buttressed against my loins by means of my arm so that I might partake of the luscious slice of orange. It wanted no small amount of ingenuity to consternate the precious Gatorade, but hark, here comes Mr. W, and mark, soon my painstakingly prepared beverage was a chaos of orange splotches which coursed from one end of my suit of running, like the River Lethe, a torrent of sugary substance that staineth and corrodeth everything in its path.
Every man hath his limits, and after what seemed a fortnight of enduring these and other affronts which shall go unmentioned, I resolved that to keep murder out of my heart, I would mount counter-vexations! Thereupon I seized the opportunity to fill my mouth with a congeal of liquids made available by the maidens at the next station for refreshment. He noticed not the thievery and I began to suppose him oblivious to the greater part of that which taketh place around him—indeed, he went on with his way whilst I ran before him. The dark thought loomed not distantly in my cerebellum that he might falleth upon the cobblestones due to the onset of all matter of liquid come pouring from my mouth and he would dodge and be stumbled down by the derbies of my mouth, thus, serving him in the office of "road kill" as he lay splattered on the ground.
Perhaps I rageth out of proportion to the crime. Certainly I did not desireth that Mr. W be hurteth or maimed. He may be, in many respects, an excellent fellow (even a father of grand, like me), and he may knoweth a great quantity of celebrities with whom might pursue me to do me harm. But he had continueth in his ways, making serpentine progress while running near me, causing me to jibe and folk and to be pitched from mine intended course and making his copious nuisances upon my company. So then, I was resolved to put him at bay, leaving him to wonder at the mysterious liquid which emanateth from my mouth and thus caused him to fall.
I prayed, meanwhile, as I left the scene, I would not be provoked to any other such extremity of retaliation for it appeared that my manifestations had succeeded. I completed the race without concern again for Mr. W. The vexations had worked and the airs were clear and the path not covered in spittle from mile numbered ten and on. The rain was bad enough.
Long live the King and clear air.
In God’s name, Your servant,
Sir Mikie
Time: A spittle and rain laden 2:40-something. This was a most difficult course at 7,700 feet with hills at 2-3% elevation and the rain and cold was hard on the body. My running gear collected FOUR POUNDS of water. Lancelot’s horse would have had been vexed.
Prayer List: Mr. W and myself. Mr. W, for his injuries and me for my sins of the heart, mind and soul (seriously). Also, I prayeth for myself to be successful at my new venture as the Vice President of Finance and Strategy at the Colorado League of Charter Schools. Sir Mikie is anxious but confident.
6 comments:
An Ode to Mr. W:
Ah, Mr. W! why do you hither plod?
Have you no other with which your flatulence to share,
Which sing upon the downs and road abroad,
Dispersing nature’s flocks and cattle everywhere?
Ah, sweet Content! where dost thou safely rest?
I long for solitary space to run. Which my legs yearn to sing!
Of him that doth create the spittle, my patience you test
As you scatter spit and odorous mist on every living thing.
Ah, sweet Revenge! where doth thine harbour hold?
Is it in half marathons with courageous and cunning men,
Which please the gods with slippery eminate on the road:
And in their dust thou shalt fall to your end?
Whether dost thou in the next half marathon appear;
Be where thou wilt! Thou wilt not harbour here!
Dear Squire Michael,
Vexed though you may be, little may you base your consternation upon those more advanced in age and less limber than thou art. Must thou not forget the lessons of thy youth? First goeth the aged and those of fairer gender. Thus, though this sprite gent was gasesous, thou must entertain his vexing nature. Prayers be with you on your forthcoming treks and blessed be the nature of your new ministrations for the youth of our hamlets. Your's in spirit, if not in stride...
FOUR POUNDS of water, oh my gosheth Sir Mikie! That doth impress me!! And all the while putting up with the likes of Mr. W. ...
I am praying your anxiety eases as you settle into your new work. God does have His hand on all of it and on JA - yet I know change is so difficult for us with our limited perspetive!
Alexis is growing so fast - - ah those blue eyes!!
Blessings!
love,
Kim
I'm giggling too much to attempt an Elizabethen written joust with you on this fine morning :)) Thank you (yet again) for sharing your adventures with us - I certainly hope we will continue to be blessed by your wisdom and humor even if we lose the opportunity to run you over in the parking lot. So much change, yet nothing changes - we love you ALWAYS! Congrats on the Estes Park experience, studly! ;)
Okay, okay, now I don't feel so badly about my rain-soaked camping trip this past weekend with 12 boy scouts of varying age, attitude and odor...
Nice work, Mike. Although I believe you were forced to read too much Shakespeare in your youth. Yet, it has coloured your writing style in a most humorous manner. (I laughed off mine hindeth maximus.)
BTW, I'm sure thou hast considereth, Mr. W's intent was to foul you out.
Either way, glad it didn't ruin your experience entirely.
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