Race Number 43
As I started today’s race in Georgetown, Colorado at 8,500 feet above sea level, I imagined my trek to Idaho Springs (at 7,400 feet) being heralded by some critic of my blog as a "run of utmost urgency and importance in a mirror universe.” A mirror universe? Do they exist? Read on to find out…..
I started this race with more anticipation than normal. I felt as if I was really supposed to “RACE” someone or something today. It seemed so mystical. I, not knowing about these areas of sophistication, merely accepted the feeling as having to do with the amount of oatmeal, banana and honey that I consumed two hours prior.
Yet, the first mile out, it became very evident to me that I WAS running and competing against someone….. the mystical character was a FEMALE, most likely many years my senior, as she SPEED-WALKED past me. Granted, I am still recovering from back surgery and have a sore right knee, but give me a break, I could not allow this “mirrored” universe to unfold in the form of a SPEED-WALKER passing Mikie Marathoner!!!
I generally react adversely to ultimatums, especially ones that challenge my manhood. It is said that goodwill and cheer will cause your heart to swell to three times its normal size (only to explode minutes later all over your respiratory system), and you need to "bless" that which may be challenging you. But I would have nothing to do with this “goodwill, cheer and blessing” garbage by acknowledging this woman’s apparent abilities to WALK faster than I RUN. I was not going to be embarrassed by her as she tried moving further ahead of me while we were headed down the winding frontage road!
So, I started to run harder during miles 3-6. I sensed I was exerting myself beyond my preparation. What the heck was I doing? No answer to that question really satisfies any reasonable curiosity other than the fact that I am VERY competitive and (oh, yes, I have yet another weakness, not astonishingly remarked on by my colleagues, family and friends) …….I AM VERY STUBBORN.
Usually, these long races refresh, rather than tire me (ok, I am lying). Yet, refreshment was not on the menu as another complication appeared during mile 7. “Chaffing,” per Webster’s Dictionary, is a transitive verb, meaning to irritate, to rub so as to wear away or to VEX. Well, I will not entertain you with the location of the vexing, but all I could do was recount my 4:00am preparation ritual and realized that I had forgotten to applying anti-vexing lotion to parts of my body that tend to get vexed during vexing competitions with vexing speed-walkers. I will not be vexed by this problem EVER again as I will place my anti-vexing cream in a place that will not allow me to forget to use it. Maybe duct taping it to a leg or arm prior to going to bed.
Sadly, by the tenth mile out, I was rapidly decomposing. I reflected on short phrases to get me through my pain, for example, “No one enjoys the mountain climb. It’s getting there that matters.” Too simple and stupid a thought, quite frankly, especially as I experienced much of this race in adventuresome agony.
I finished behind the speed walker. In a mirrored universe, I would have beaten her (meaning, of course, that I would have finished before her). So….. I really do want to believe there is a mirror universe that allows men of stature (as myself, of course) to succeed without ANY failure…… whatsoever! I think that so-called mirror universe is called Heaven. I am very sore in body, mind and spirit and wish I was there right now!
I guess I will have to settle for some medication (the prescribed type) a shower and a nap. Oh, thank heaven……… anyway!
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Cameron Munier, as he starts his career as a Deputy District Attorney in the Adams/Broomfield Counties of Colorado. Miles 4-5: Janelle Bratten’s mom who is declining in health and is now in an assisted care facility. Miles 6-7: The Christianssen’s who own and operate Impact Sports Medicine and will be expanding. Wonderful, caring family!! Miles 8-10: Mandy James, JA 6th grader: Mandy was diagnosed with Scoliosis in 2007. She had corrective surgery a couple of weeks ago and is doing well. Miles 11-13: Connie Meadows, as she seeks new employment that will bless her!
The Redline 13.1, Longmont, Colorado, July 16, 2011
Race Number 42 (and I had a third place finish in the 60+ age bracket!!)
Like others, I experienced athletic success early in life. Unlike others, my successes happened infrequently and without my help. My accomplishments were always unexpected. In fact, most of the truly magical ESPN type sports moments in my life have come not because of me, but in spite of me. Yet, it is the human way to exert oneself, every now and again, in eccentric enterprises and I guess this may help you understand why I am so insanely stubborn about completely at least 50 half marathons. I suppose I am trying to make up for years of mediocre performances and then gloating about it in a self-indulgent blog (which usually puts a soft touch on the experience, thus a little parachute for my self-esteem when I finish towards the rear of the pack, these days).
We all have dreams and ambitions, though few of us ever become all that we could be (unless you were in the Army, of course.... and certainly not any of the other services ;-). We all fight a silent war of some sort. Those that watch us marathoners and half marathoners only see the act of running, but as anyone on the course can tell you, there is a powerful, intricate conflict underway. William James had said, “War is, in short, a permanent human obligation.” We long distance runners fight this war against the most difficult of enemies; ones self.
And, as with war, comes misery and suffering. War is hell, and long distant running is nothing short of war. Today’s race in Longmont kept that war raging in my soul, to keep moving forward, to stay the course in the face of some pretty significant pain in my thighs, feet and lower back AND 80 HEAT!! I may be asking more of myself than is reasonable, but, as I noted in the first paragraph, my successes have been few, so I NEED to do the unthinkable, to endure the hardship (along with 400 other runners), all in the name of accomplishing an endeavor I deem noble and worthwhile at this point in my life.
By mile 10, I was staggering haplessly, fighting with all my might to remain steadfast and fluid. I think video of miles 10-13 could have made people laugh on “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” Yet in the midst of the staggering, there was honor, I suppose. I think I have learned, again, what it means to stand resolute for what you believe in, whilst every shred of your material being is being tested to the limit (I am a hurting puppy as I write this). With this struggle comes renewal. Running these races is not about running anymore, it is about a form of temporal salvation for me (and I am certainly not diminishing my spiritual salvation through Jesus Christ).
It is kind of obvious that my physical efforts of the past and those in the future, may not result in many trophies for my office (except for the surprise today in a small field of runners), but my soul wins every time.
Be steadfast at whatever your heart calls you to my friends. Blessings to each of you as you answer your personal call!
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Jenny Granholm, Amanda Munier's mother. Diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. An avid adventurist, Jenny is not taking this laying down!!! Miles 4-6: For a marriage, (I will not disclose, of course), that is dissolving asking God for His peace and comfort for all involved. Miles 7-9: The Carlson family (Tim, Kelly-who ran the race today, Tyler and Peter.... an incredible family whom I admire very much. Kelly use to try to run me over in the parking lot at JA. Miles 10-13: Selfishly, I prayed for myself as I went out pretty fast in this race for 9 miles (back felt good) and then really started to struggle the last four miles. I am really not in great running shape.
Like others, I experienced athletic success early in life. Unlike others, my successes happened infrequently and without my help. My accomplishments were always unexpected. In fact, most of the truly magical ESPN type sports moments in my life have come not because of me, but in spite of me. Yet, it is the human way to exert oneself, every now and again, in eccentric enterprises and I guess this may help you understand why I am so insanely stubborn about completely at least 50 half marathons. I suppose I am trying to make up for years of mediocre performances and then gloating about it in a self-indulgent blog (which usually puts a soft touch on the experience, thus a little parachute for my self-esteem when I finish towards the rear of the pack, these days).
We all have dreams and ambitions, though few of us ever become all that we could be (unless you were in the Army, of course.... and certainly not any of the other services ;-). We all fight a silent war of some sort. Those that watch us marathoners and half marathoners only see the act of running, but as anyone on the course can tell you, there is a powerful, intricate conflict underway. William James had said, “War is, in short, a permanent human obligation.” We long distance runners fight this war against the most difficult of enemies; ones self.
And, as with war, comes misery and suffering. War is hell, and long distant running is nothing short of war. Today’s race in Longmont kept that war raging in my soul, to keep moving forward, to stay the course in the face of some pretty significant pain in my thighs, feet and lower back AND 80 HEAT!! I may be asking more of myself than is reasonable, but, as I noted in the first paragraph, my successes have been few, so I NEED to do the unthinkable, to endure the hardship (along with 400 other runners), all in the name of accomplishing an endeavor I deem noble and worthwhile at this point in my life.
By mile 10, I was staggering haplessly, fighting with all my might to remain steadfast and fluid. I think video of miles 10-13 could have made people laugh on “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” Yet in the midst of the staggering, there was honor, I suppose. I think I have learned, again, what it means to stand resolute for what you believe in, whilst every shred of your material being is being tested to the limit (I am a hurting puppy as I write this). With this struggle comes renewal. Running these races is not about running anymore, it is about a form of temporal salvation for me (and I am certainly not diminishing my spiritual salvation through Jesus Christ).
It is kind of obvious that my physical efforts of the past and those in the future, may not result in many trophies for my office (except for the surprise today in a small field of runners), but my soul wins every time.
Be steadfast at whatever your heart calls you to my friends. Blessings to each of you as you answer your personal call!
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Jenny Granholm, Amanda Munier's mother. Diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. An avid adventurist, Jenny is not taking this laying down!!! Miles 4-6: For a marriage, (I will not disclose, of course), that is dissolving asking God for His peace and comfort for all involved. Miles 7-9: The Carlson family (Tim, Kelly-who ran the race today, Tyler and Peter.... an incredible family whom I admire very much. Kelly use to try to run me over in the parking lot at JA. Miles 10-13: Selfishly, I prayed for myself as I went out pretty fast in this race for 9 miles (back felt good) and then really started to struggle the last four miles. I am really not in great running shape.
"Slacker" Half Marathon, Loveland Ski Area (10,630ft) to Georgetown, Colorado (8,400ft) June 24, 2011
Race Number 41
Mikie’s Top Ten Reasons for Running the Slacker Half Marathon:
Number 10) To show off my abs of steel hoping everyone could imagine what is under the medium layer of stubborn fat that shields the spectacle.
Number 9) I heard this race guaranteed a wonderful running experience for people of Italian, Mexican and English decent, which really sucks, as I am Lebanese.
Number 8) I had dreamt that something deep inside of me would re-awaken during this race. I did not suspect that the awakening would occur sitting in the port-a-potty.
Number 7) After weeks of preparation and anticipation, my plan to run this race AND escape from the psychiatric hospital attendees worked better than I thought, even with the straight jacket negating my arm movements and causing me to look like a galloping sausage.
Number 6) I was hoping that the bizarre chain of existential mishaps that I experienced this week, which resulted in my sixth viewing of the inspirational running movie, "Chariots of Fire," would cause me to be recruited for the Olympic team.
Number 5) While hard and fast rules of running in these half marathons are oftentimes overly simplistic, I could not argue with the logic that whoever smelt it, most likely also dealt it.
Number 4) Even though the technical details are still being worked out, Hollywood executives have promised that the filming of my entire hilarious, heartwarming and inspiring race would soon be released as a new documentary on forms of lunacy and will be sponsored by Adult Depends.
Number 3) I was hopeful that I would experience my normal Pavlovian response in this race when the mere mention of “gel packets” caused me to instantly salivate, grunt and claw for the tangerine flavor packs at the water stations.
Number 2) Other runners, in my age bracket, would not discover the secret ingredient to my homemade energy bars (distributed, by me, prior to the race), and, would in turn, lack the necessary motor functions to speak and run, thus allowing me to place high in my age bracket.
And the NUMBER ONE REASON I RAN IN THE SLACKER HALF MARATHON WAS...................
I did not want to spend the rest of my life wondering “what if?” I ran this race in a pink tutu and orange tights. No pictures were taken as this was a very private and cathartic moment for me.
Running at high altitude, going downhill or not, is really difficult. I felt like I was gasping for every breath. Yet, I finished. The legs are sore and the back held up. The tutu kept my legs from getting burnt. ;-)
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Justin and Reilly Watanabe will be married on July 1st by yours truly. Justin spent all his years at JA, works there, and is studying to enter law enforcement. Miles 4-6: Robin Munier as she heals after having her left knee replaced. Miles 7-9: Dina Walton, League Board Member, recovering from cancer surgery and treatments. Miles 10-13: Five employees at JA, leaving to participate in new educational endeavors.
Mikie’s Top Ten Reasons for Running the Slacker Half Marathon:
Number 10) To show off my abs of steel hoping everyone could imagine what is under the medium layer of stubborn fat that shields the spectacle.
Number 9) I heard this race guaranteed a wonderful running experience for people of Italian, Mexican and English decent, which really sucks, as I am Lebanese.
Number 8) I had dreamt that something deep inside of me would re-awaken during this race. I did not suspect that the awakening would occur sitting in the port-a-potty.
Number 7) After weeks of preparation and anticipation, my plan to run this race AND escape from the psychiatric hospital attendees worked better than I thought, even with the straight jacket negating my arm movements and causing me to look like a galloping sausage.
Number 6) I was hoping that the bizarre chain of existential mishaps that I experienced this week, which resulted in my sixth viewing of the inspirational running movie, "Chariots of Fire," would cause me to be recruited for the Olympic team.
Number 5) While hard and fast rules of running in these half marathons are oftentimes overly simplistic, I could not argue with the logic that whoever smelt it, most likely also dealt it.
Number 4) Even though the technical details are still being worked out, Hollywood executives have promised that the filming of my entire hilarious, heartwarming and inspiring race would soon be released as a new documentary on forms of lunacy and will be sponsored by Adult Depends.
Number 3) I was hopeful that I would experience my normal Pavlovian response in this race when the mere mention of “gel packets” caused me to instantly salivate, grunt and claw for the tangerine flavor packs at the water stations.
Number 2) Other runners, in my age bracket, would not discover the secret ingredient to my homemade energy bars (distributed, by me, prior to the race), and, would in turn, lack the necessary motor functions to speak and run, thus allowing me to place high in my age bracket.
And the NUMBER ONE REASON I RAN IN THE SLACKER HALF MARATHON WAS...................
I did not want to spend the rest of my life wondering “what if?” I ran this race in a pink tutu and orange tights. No pictures were taken as this was a very private and cathartic moment for me.
Running at high altitude, going downhill or not, is really difficult. I felt like I was gasping for every breath. Yet, I finished. The legs are sore and the back held up. The tutu kept my legs from getting burnt. ;-)
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Justin and Reilly Watanabe will be married on July 1st by yours truly. Justin spent all his years at JA, works there, and is studying to enter law enforcement. Miles 4-6: Robin Munier as she heals after having her left knee replaced. Miles 7-9: Dina Walton, League Board Member, recovering from cancer surgery and treatments. Miles 10-13: Five employees at JA, leaving to participate in new educational endeavors.
Colfax Half Marathon, May 15, 2011, Denver, Colorado
 |
| It was COLD! |
Race Number 40
If speed in these half marathons is the only objective, then running these races is, well, perverse. I ran this one unhurried, again, with similar reasoning as the last one. Yet, I entered today’s race with a since of trepidation. My back decided to start acting up a few days ago. There was no happiness on the left side. It felt like it was “nature’s” version of Beirut.
If speed in these half marathons is the only objective, then running these races is, well, perverse. I ran this one unhurried, again, with similar reasoning as the last one. Yet, I entered today’s race with a since of trepidation. My back decided to start acting up a few days ago. There was no happiness on the left side. It felt like it was “nature’s” version of Beirut.
It certainly appears I am a practitioner of paradoxical behavior which is always frustrating to my family and close friends. Running on a healing back is certainly paradoxical. But, I have been able to convince myself that making these commitments and decisions at trying to be successful at the things I try to do, gains me special favor with Aries (Greek god of war, manly courage, and civil order). Or………maybe not.
I chugged along today, in cold, moist weather knowing I was running with many of my colleagues from the League of Charter Schools as we exercised (pun intended) a fundraising opportunity for our advocacy fund through “Chugging for Charters” (http://www.active.com/donate/coloradoleague, if you might be interested in donating to the cause). If my Guardian Angel had suddenly---indulgently----appeared, I think he/she would have been proud of our/my efforts but would then take me to the wood shed and slap some sense into me. It was a difficult race for me as I had not trained well. Sucking cold air is a miserable experience, as well, but we succeeded.
I ran at the rear of the pack (a humbling experience for me), nonetheless in that loneliness I still felt a bond with the 8,500 runners who ran this race. It is highly attenuated, by comparison, with the bond that binds men in combat, but it is there, as the element of combat is there. Today, I survived to run another day. Number 41, here I come!
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Julie Michael, a friend from JA days. I prayed for peace and joy as she has experienced some significant levels of trauma in the last month or so. Miles: 4-5: The graduating 6th grade class at Jefferson Academy. Miles 6-7: Mr. Mike Nolan, the Principal of Jefferson Academy as he ends his first year of what I suspect to be many very special years for him. Miles 8-10: Tom Hensey, father of my dear friend, Holly. Tom faces some difficult decisions related to prostate cancer. Miles 11-13: For our Charter Schools in our state as they face another year of budget cuts.
Sea Side Half Marathon, Long Beach, California, March 27, 2011
Race Number “39”
Jack Benny, recognized as one of the leading American entertainers of the 20th century, played the role of the comic penny-pinching miser, insisting on remaining 39 years old, on stage, despite his actual age. I watched Mr. Benny as a young boy, thinking 39 was VERY old and hoping I would progress to that age without misfortune. Mr. Benny made such a big deal about not surpassing that epoch landmark it made me think that any age past that magic 39 must represent the near end of life. Yet, here I was, at age 61, running my “39th” half marathon after two back surgeries, a painful steroid injection, and a tough ¾ of a year on rehab (not to mention a hodgepodge of medications and vitamin supplements). Mr. Benny quipped, “Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.” I think he was correct, although there have been some physical reality checks for me along the way.
I “jogged” the Seaside Half Marathon, in Long Beach California today, being very careful that my foot strikes did not jar my back too much. I reduced those strikes upon the terra firma from 180 per minute (or an average 25,200 per race) to 160 although my slower pace increased my total strikes by 14% for this race, so all I gained was a more leisurely, less impacting pace. Frankly, I did not think I deserved the finisher medal that was hung around my neck. On the other hand, I have a weakened spine and I don't deserve that either. (see personal note below)
Notwithstanding, the race this morning, could have been seen as routine, but only in the sense in which that word can be used when running thirteen miles on black and convoluted pavement. Looked at another way, I did not meet my maker or exhibit the fleet feet of Mercury; ergo, it was routine. It was a low-key rebirth of believing I could possibly attain my goal of 100 half marathons…. IF I live to 106 years old.
The race was produced and staged by a fella by the name of Charlie Alewine. Charlie produces many small races throughout the SoCal area and limits entries to 50 runners between the half and full marathons. He does a great job. It is like running with a running club (which I have not had occasion to do because I am an introverted perfectionist who might not be able to keep up, thus I run alone…. with my thoughts and pain). We ran in a beautiful part of Long Beach, along one of the bays in a light rain that kept me cool. I will run more Charlie Races if I get the opportunity. Great course! My legs hung in there and my lungs and heart loved pumping at sea level. The ocean air cleansed me. Running by the Pacific made my first race in eight months, special. The Colfax Half, in May, is my next venture.
A final personal note: In January, I met with my rehab doctor and went through a half hour of muscle stress testing, bending, and stretching while I waxed on as to how important it was for me to continue my present way of life……then, Dr. Munson sort of took the floor and commented on my surfing and my running. She pitched that 50 half marathons “may” be ok (“and certainly not 100”) BUT surfing is especially something I should not do anymore due to the “wipe outs” and thrashing that come with almost every wave. You can imagine the piercing of my heart and the bloodletting that occurred in the car after I left the appointment and sat, stunned, in the parking garage for 15 minutes. There is nothing quite like the sense of utter irretrievability one experiences on losing the opportunity to exercise a passion. I have always (since 6th grade) run in a mano to mano, adversary relationship with the ocean. Riding and sailing the surf and the ocean has been a passion for me (I once helped sail, over a three week ordeal, a 50ft racing sloop from Hawaii to California in 10-12 foot breaking swells…not a pleasure cruise, that is for sure). Now I “may” be relegated to walking the beach experiencing the scent of the ocean….. which is a pleasurable experience difficult to surpass, UNLESS you elect to reminisce about your days on a surf board, a boogie board or a racing sloop…….then it feels like you have been thrown into prison. I am not at peace with this declaration to “stop” right now. I am not sure what to do.
I often suffer from my somewhat rooted pessimism, and no doubt I reason that since it is not written in the laws of this country or of my God that I MUST set out and run a race for 13.1 miles or that I MUST surf the California coast, my doing so is at least, partly an act of thoughtlessness. I suppose, I deserve the suffering that occurs after the folly. My gut tells me I should continue the recklessness. With that thought, I think I am going to take a couple of Percocet, go get my scheduled massage, wiggle into my wet suit and head to the beach with my board and contemplate whether I should enter the surf……which, BTW, is running 3-4 feet on a cold north swell..... pretty irresistible.
I sure hope I do not get stuck on number 39, like Mr. Benny. Be well, my friends!
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Shelby Griffin, three year old recovering from surgery. Miles 4-6: Jack Johnson, a new baby boy born to my colleague, Jeff Johnson. Miles 7-9: Mira Turnbull, born nearly three months pre-mature but doing well at Rose Medical Center in Denver. Miles 10-13: Dave Eason, my lifelong buddy in California as he continues to recover from a mild heart attack (if there is anything "mild" about a heart attack).
Jack Benny, recognized as one of the leading American entertainers of the 20th century, played the role of the comic penny-pinching miser, insisting on remaining 39 years old, on stage, despite his actual age. I watched Mr. Benny as a young boy, thinking 39 was VERY old and hoping I would progress to that age without misfortune. Mr. Benny made such a big deal about not surpassing that epoch landmark it made me think that any age past that magic 39 must represent the near end of life. Yet, here I was, at age 61, running my “39th” half marathon after two back surgeries, a painful steroid injection, and a tough ¾ of a year on rehab (not to mention a hodgepodge of medications and vitamin supplements). Mr. Benny quipped, “Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.” I think he was correct, although there have been some physical reality checks for me along the way.
I “jogged” the Seaside Half Marathon, in Long Beach California today, being very careful that my foot strikes did not jar my back too much. I reduced those strikes upon the terra firma from 180 per minute (or an average 25,200 per race) to 160 although my slower pace increased my total strikes by 14% for this race, so all I gained was a more leisurely, less impacting pace. Frankly, I did not think I deserved the finisher medal that was hung around my neck. On the other hand, I have a weakened spine and I don't deserve that either. (see personal note below)
Notwithstanding, the race this morning, could have been seen as routine, but only in the sense in which that word can be used when running thirteen miles on black and convoluted pavement. Looked at another way, I did not meet my maker or exhibit the fleet feet of Mercury; ergo, it was routine. It was a low-key rebirth of believing I could possibly attain my goal of 100 half marathons…. IF I live to 106 years old.
The race was produced and staged by a fella by the name of Charlie Alewine. Charlie produces many small races throughout the SoCal area and limits entries to 50 runners between the half and full marathons. He does a great job. It is like running with a running club (which I have not had occasion to do because I am an introverted perfectionist who might not be able to keep up, thus I run alone…. with my thoughts and pain). We ran in a beautiful part of Long Beach, along one of the bays in a light rain that kept me cool. I will run more Charlie Races if I get the opportunity. Great course! My legs hung in there and my lungs and heart loved pumping at sea level. The ocean air cleansed me. Running by the Pacific made my first race in eight months, special. The Colfax Half, in May, is my next venture.
A final personal note: In January, I met with my rehab doctor and went through a half hour of muscle stress testing, bending, and stretching while I waxed on as to how important it was for me to continue my present way of life……then, Dr. Munson sort of took the floor and commented on my surfing and my running. She pitched that 50 half marathons “may” be ok (“and certainly not 100”) BUT surfing is especially something I should not do anymore due to the “wipe outs” and thrashing that come with almost every wave. You can imagine the piercing of my heart and the bloodletting that occurred in the car after I left the appointment and sat, stunned, in the parking garage for 15 minutes. There is nothing quite like the sense of utter irretrievability one experiences on losing the opportunity to exercise a passion. I have always (since 6th grade) run in a mano to mano, adversary relationship with the ocean. Riding and sailing the surf and the ocean has been a passion for me (I once helped sail, over a three week ordeal, a 50ft racing sloop from Hawaii to California in 10-12 foot breaking swells…not a pleasure cruise, that is for sure). Now I “may” be relegated to walking the beach experiencing the scent of the ocean….. which is a pleasurable experience difficult to surpass, UNLESS you elect to reminisce about your days on a surf board, a boogie board or a racing sloop…….then it feels like you have been thrown into prison. I am not at peace with this declaration to “stop” right now. I am not sure what to do.
I often suffer from my somewhat rooted pessimism, and no doubt I reason that since it is not written in the laws of this country or of my God that I MUST set out and run a race for 13.1 miles or that I MUST surf the California coast, my doing so is at least, partly an act of thoughtlessness. I suppose, I deserve the suffering that occurs after the folly. My gut tells me I should continue the recklessness. With that thought, I think I am going to take a couple of Percocet, go get my scheduled massage, wiggle into my wet suit and head to the beach with my board and contemplate whether I should enter the surf……which, BTW, is running 3-4 feet on a cold north swell..... pretty irresistible.
I sure hope I do not get stuck on number 39, like Mr. Benny. Be well, my friends!
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Shelby Griffin, three year old recovering from surgery. Miles 4-6: Jack Johnson, a new baby boy born to my colleague, Jeff Johnson. Miles 7-9: Mira Turnbull, born nearly three months pre-mature but doing well at Rose Medical Center in Denver. Miles 10-13: Dave Eason, my lifelong buddy in California as he continues to recover from a mild heart attack (if there is anything "mild" about a heart attack).
The Shot Heard Around the World (actually, the Hospital)
I do not believe in confrontational engagements with doctors, nurses or hospital security. They have a job to do no matter what kind of discomfort it may create, cause or inflict on your body and soul. Like education, it can sometimes be a thankless venture. Notwithstanding, Dr. K, an MD in the Pain Clinic at Saint Joseph Hospital is a marked man. Even as all men with wooden legs do not behave like Long John Silver, so hopefully, not all doctors with a needle, behave like Dr. K.
After having my back surgery on my 2/3 disc in mid-August, I have not improved to a satisfactory point. I still have had a LOT of pain going down my left leg. My THIRD MRI, and THREE doctors opinions determined that there was no new damage, just scar tissue pressing on the root nerve thus creating the (albeit lesser than before) pain down my leg. So… almost eight weeks out of surgery, the doctors suggested I get a steroid shot in my back.
I went into the Pain Clinic thinking they would put me out a bit, but they needed me awake during this procedure (torture). First a numbing agent was administered (numbing what I am not sure) and then the exploratory needle painfully searched for the root nerve and then Dr. Death pulled the needle back just a smidge. It was at this point that dear Dr. Demise said, “Now this is going to give you some discomfort and pain but it will only be for about 5-10 seconds.” Here, I refer you to the title of this article. It was at this point that the steroid was injected into my back and EVERYONE (including St. Joseph, himself) in the WHOLE HOSPITAL knew, without a doubt, that Mr. Michael E. Munier, III was getting steroids injected into his system. My yelling was slightly interrupted by two nurses, one each on my starboard and port sides of the operating table, holding me down and whispering encouragement in my ears that the pain would subside within the decade. All I could do was believe them and imagined I was Jack Bauer in the TV Series “24” who ALWAYS seemed to survive his torture and punishment.
You ask, “Was the shot successful?” Yes it has been, yet not without some major side effects. I am walking without any significant pain right now, yet the first five days after the injection were quite difficult. Steroids and I do not get along. I had significant neurotic reactions to the drug, did not sleep for nearly two days and finally was given an anti-anxiety drug to counteract the drugs systemic effects. I am still CRAZY as a loon, but at least not ROIDS induced anymore.
My hope is the “roid” will give my body a chance to heal and I will be back to normal in another month or so. Frankly, I think it is a band-aid and I am probably headed into surgery again to clean up the scar tissue that is causing the distress. So, the intended catharsis from this unpleasant experience is very much a mystery at this time.
Your devout prayers to God would be much appreciated. Also, please supplicate for me if you pray to St. Joseph for any reason……I have not had the most pleasant thoughts towards that particular Saint for the last two weeks.
Sidebar: Have you ever wondered why some hospitals are named after saints? Maybe only half the hospital should be named after a saint… where all the compassion of wonderful nurses and doctors takes place and the other half should be named………oh, maybe….. after a world famous heavyweight fighter or a Ultimate Cage fighter or an alien predator. Can you envision the two doors and the two marquees? BTW: DR. K is really a nice guy doing a great job!
Hope to be running again………..soon,
Mikie
After having my back surgery on my 2/3 disc in mid-August, I have not improved to a satisfactory point. I still have had a LOT of pain going down my left leg. My THIRD MRI, and THREE doctors opinions determined that there was no new damage, just scar tissue pressing on the root nerve thus creating the (albeit lesser than before) pain down my leg. So… almost eight weeks out of surgery, the doctors suggested I get a steroid shot in my back.
I went into the Pain Clinic thinking they would put me out a bit, but they needed me awake during this procedure (torture). First a numbing agent was administered (numbing what I am not sure) and then the exploratory needle painfully searched for the root nerve and then Dr. Death pulled the needle back just a smidge. It was at this point that dear Dr. Demise said, “Now this is going to give you some discomfort and pain but it will only be for about 5-10 seconds.” Here, I refer you to the title of this article. It was at this point that the steroid was injected into my back and EVERYONE (including St. Joseph, himself) in the WHOLE HOSPITAL knew, without a doubt, that Mr. Michael E. Munier, III was getting steroids injected into his system. My yelling was slightly interrupted by two nurses, one each on my starboard and port sides of the operating table, holding me down and whispering encouragement in my ears that the pain would subside within the decade. All I could do was believe them and imagined I was Jack Bauer in the TV Series “24” who ALWAYS seemed to survive his torture and punishment.
You ask, “Was the shot successful?” Yes it has been, yet not without some major side effects. I am walking without any significant pain right now, yet the first five days after the injection were quite difficult. Steroids and I do not get along. I had significant neurotic reactions to the drug, did not sleep for nearly two days and finally was given an anti-anxiety drug to counteract the drugs systemic effects. I am still CRAZY as a loon, but at least not ROIDS induced anymore.
My hope is the “roid” will give my body a chance to heal and I will be back to normal in another month or so. Frankly, I think it is a band-aid and I am probably headed into surgery again to clean up the scar tissue that is causing the distress. So, the intended catharsis from this unpleasant experience is very much a mystery at this time.
Your devout prayers to God would be much appreciated. Also, please supplicate for me if you pray to St. Joseph for any reason……I have not had the most pleasant thoughts towards that particular Saint for the last two weeks.
Sidebar: Have you ever wondered why some hospitals are named after saints? Maybe only half the hospital should be named after a saint… where all the compassion of wonderful nurses and doctors takes place and the other half should be named………oh, maybe….. after a world famous heavyweight fighter or a Ultimate Cage fighter or an alien predator. Can you envision the two doors and the two marquees? BTW: DR. K is really a nice guy doing a great job!
Hope to be running again………..soon,
Mikie
Ooops I did it again
Oops, I did it again, (Didn’t Britney Spears have a song that started like that?)
Those of you that know me well know I do not communicate some of my personal calamities (outside of my blog) to too many people…. Even my family has been significantly frustrated by that. I am pretty tough-minded (stubborn), don’t like to trouble people and am generally very private (stupid in some eyes). Frankly, I like it that way. Sorry if that may aggravate some of you at times, but it is who I am and I am not going to change.
Well, to cut to the chase, I had another lower back surgery on Wednesday evening, about 5pm. It was a “borderline emergency” or at least, from my point of view, a DEMAND surgery.
After running the San Francisco Half Marathon on July 25th, I returned to Denver with a bit more soreness on the LEFT side of my body and started to experience the same sciatica pain down my left side that I had had on my right side in November and December of this last year. As you know, I had a very successful surgery on December 29th and was a new man within days. I ran my first half marathon after surgery in April in Oklahoma and felt pretty good. I ran three more after that which included the San Francisco. I have completed 38 of these wonderful races.
Upon returning to Denver, I started helping Morgan and Amanda paint their new home and get some things moved in (plus, I am moving into their condo until it sells) but the sciatica pain started to increase. My doctor made the wise decision to have another MRI taken this last Friday. I was to receive results on Monday, but ended up in the ER Sunday morning with more pain than normal. That Doctor increased my meds but was also able to get his hands on my MRI results and I was made aware of the fact that I had herniated the left side of Lumbar 2/3 (the first injury was at 4/5). So, I was destined for therapy or another surgery. Being in the “superb” shape that I am in for a 60+year old stud, I took a few more drugs and just pressed on waiting for the process to play its self out.
Well……. Wednesday morning (about 2am) I had gotten up to get an ice pack for my hip/leg. I laid on that ice pack for probably an hour and proceeded to fall asleep upon it. At what I think was about 4am, I woke to pain in my leg that was the worst I had ever felt in my entire life. I tried to rub it out to no avail. I ended up calling an ambulance (NO ONE COULD HAVE GOTTEN ME DOWN THE STAIRS AND INTO A CAR) and had them transport me (with TWO morphine injections) to the hospital where my neurosurgeon works hoping he might take me into surgery that day!!!! As it turned out (yes, there is a God), his associate took me as his last surgery for the day at 5pm. I am sorry that I did not notify anyone except my dear friend Holly Hensey who lives about four miles from the hospital and knows how to interpret my morphine laden instructions. Calling just about anyone else at four in the morning seemed stupid especially when you consider how far St. Joseph’s Medical center is from the suburbs. It was kind of fun waking Hensey up in the middle of the night anyway.
I was released to the Department of Corrections by noon, yesterday (Thursday)and I am proud to say I am moving around fine, don’t need anything and am just about ready to move into my new digs at Morgan and Amanda’s condo. I am moving a little bit slower than the previous surgery but not by much. This one was a little more complicated. I have already made trips to the store, had a coffee at my favorite coffee house and plan on a normal weekend (except I will miss an Eagle Scout Court of Honor I was to speak at but have sent the script to be read my someone else). Bottom-line, I am just Ducky!!!
My future marathon career is certainly in doubt, but I am going on record that I will complete at least 50 within the next year or two, even if I have to walk or crawl them. The 100 mark may have to go by the wayside, but I do have a few creative ideas on a new quest of competing to complete 50 of SOMETHING whether it be 50 mini-triathlons, 50-fifty mile bike races (which would be kind of equivalent to a half marathon), or just get out and walk 655 miles (50 X 13.1= 655 miles) over a 30 day vacation and raise money for research on deranged Lebanese men over 60 with apparent death wishes!!! I don’t know….. But stay tuned. Once the back is really healed, the quest will begin.
Thanks for all your support over the last four years and 38 completed halves. Also, thank you for trying to understanding my lunacy and privacy, as strange as it all sounds. Hey, I am almost 61 years old and I am just going to have to do it “MY WAY.”
Mikie (in recuperation stage) Marathoner
Those of you that know me well know I do not communicate some of my personal calamities (outside of my blog) to too many people…. Even my family has been significantly frustrated by that. I am pretty tough-minded (stubborn), don’t like to trouble people and am generally very private (stupid in some eyes). Frankly, I like it that way. Sorry if that may aggravate some of you at times, but it is who I am and I am not going to change.
Well, to cut to the chase, I had another lower back surgery on Wednesday evening, about 5pm. It was a “borderline emergency” or at least, from my point of view, a DEMAND surgery.
After running the San Francisco Half Marathon on July 25th, I returned to Denver with a bit more soreness on the LEFT side of my body and started to experience the same sciatica pain down my left side that I had had on my right side in November and December of this last year. As you know, I had a very successful surgery on December 29th and was a new man within days. I ran my first half marathon after surgery in April in Oklahoma and felt pretty good. I ran three more after that which included the San Francisco. I have completed 38 of these wonderful races.
Upon returning to Denver, I started helping Morgan and Amanda paint their new home and get some things moved in (plus, I am moving into their condo until it sells) but the sciatica pain started to increase. My doctor made the wise decision to have another MRI taken this last Friday. I was to receive results on Monday, but ended up in the ER Sunday morning with more pain than normal. That Doctor increased my meds but was also able to get his hands on my MRI results and I was made aware of the fact that I had herniated the left side of Lumbar 2/3 (the first injury was at 4/5). So, I was destined for therapy or another surgery. Being in the “superb” shape that I am in for a 60+year old stud, I took a few more drugs and just pressed on waiting for the process to play its self out.
Well……. Wednesday morning (about 2am) I had gotten up to get an ice pack for my hip/leg. I laid on that ice pack for probably an hour and proceeded to fall asleep upon it. At what I think was about 4am, I woke to pain in my leg that was the worst I had ever felt in my entire life. I tried to rub it out to no avail. I ended up calling an ambulance (NO ONE COULD HAVE GOTTEN ME DOWN THE STAIRS AND INTO A CAR) and had them transport me (with TWO morphine injections) to the hospital where my neurosurgeon works hoping he might take me into surgery that day!!!! As it turned out (yes, there is a God), his associate took me as his last surgery for the day at 5pm. I am sorry that I did not notify anyone except my dear friend Holly Hensey who lives about four miles from the hospital and knows how to interpret my morphine laden instructions. Calling just about anyone else at four in the morning seemed stupid especially when you consider how far St. Joseph’s Medical center is from the suburbs. It was kind of fun waking Hensey up in the middle of the night anyway.
I was released to the Department of Corrections by noon, yesterday (Thursday)and I am proud to say I am moving around fine, don’t need anything and am just about ready to move into my new digs at Morgan and Amanda’s condo. I am moving a little bit slower than the previous surgery but not by much. This one was a little more complicated. I have already made trips to the store, had a coffee at my favorite coffee house and plan on a normal weekend (except I will miss an Eagle Scout Court of Honor I was to speak at but have sent the script to be read my someone else). Bottom-line, I am just Ducky!!!
My future marathon career is certainly in doubt, but I am going on record that I will complete at least 50 within the next year or two, even if I have to walk or crawl them. The 100 mark may have to go by the wayside, but I do have a few creative ideas on a new quest of competing to complete 50 of SOMETHING whether it be 50 mini-triathlons, 50-fifty mile bike races (which would be kind of equivalent to a half marathon), or just get out and walk 655 miles (50 X 13.1= 655 miles) over a 30 day vacation and raise money for research on deranged Lebanese men over 60 with apparent death wishes!!! I don’t know….. But stay tuned. Once the back is really healed, the quest will begin.
Thanks for all your support over the last four years and 38 completed halves. Also, thank you for trying to understanding my lunacy and privacy, as strange as it all sounds. Hey, I am almost 61 years old and I am just going to have to do it “MY WAY.”
Mikie (in recuperation stage) Marathoner
San Francisco Half Marathon, July 25, 2010, San Francisco, California
Race Number 38
My life as an evangelist for running half marathons began three years ago, when I ran this particular half marathon, in foggy and misty San Francisco. I stood in my starting wave, getting ready to start my ninth half marathon with no specific goal in mind as to how many marathons I might run in my lifetime. My-o-my, how things changed that day.
As I lined up for the race today, with 20,000 other runners, I reflected back to that event of three years ago.... there I was, trying to warm myself in the cold San Francisco air, standing in front of two men chatting with one another. Both men were excited about the race but one of the men was expressing his phobia of BRIDGES. That period of ease-dropping plus a deep belly laugh in the hotel room with my son, Cameron, (we had just returned from touring a few wineries in Napa Valley), birthed this blog you have been subjected to for the last three years. You may enjoy reading part of my post of that special day, again. I have conveniently linked part of the July 2007 post onto a page that can be retrieved by hitting the link above this post entitled "An Exert from my blog post, July 2007...." I am ashamed to say, I made tragic fun of this poor man's phobia.... but, oh it was soooooo fun!!!
Running in San Francisco is special, without a doubt. The mere mention of San Francisco tends to make most of us imagine a special destination. It is often spoken of as one of the most charming cities in the world. I certainly experienced that on this trip. I spent part of my day at the Farmer's Market on the Embarcadero, listening to a variety of languages, sampling unusual foods (including, of course, oysters, some fine chocolate and exquisite jams) and listening to musicians play many different instruments including the oboe, the violin, kettle drums, ukuleles, guitars and the saxophone. My dinner was taken at the La Fitte Restaurant where I was expertly served by three beautiful waitresses (maybe they felt sorry for the charming Lebanese man who dined alone). I ordered an unusual pasta dish: It was Roasted Spaghetti in a Olive Oil Nettle sauce (it was green...seriously) with a mushroom, that I was unfamiliar with and had at least 15 letters in its name. I finished my pre-race meal with a wonderful Peach Tart and some French-pressed coffee. OH MY! Add to that, my table allowed me to view Coit Tower, the San Francisco Bay and a tremendous amount of foot traffic that made the people watching aspect of this adventure intriguing.
The race itself was wonderful. The weather was overcast, in the high 50's with very little wind. I ran very strong up to mile ten. The course turned into a leg shredder at that point with the last three miles comprised of 5% rolling hills.
Even with this special experience in San Francisco, Shakespeare's Macbeth may have had it right after all: Is life a tale "told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing?" Well, enter stage right, the Idiot, Mikie Marathoner, with lots of sound and fury in his impetuous blog trying to accomplish a goal that, in the long run, probably means nothing.... except for the shiny medals and the resident pain in the legs, feet and especially the lower back. It may be time for this old man to reconsider his goal, or at least modify it. Ten half marathons a year may be more than I can bear without proper training (which has been limited in the last six months), weekly massages (which I never do) and sponsorship from Nike, Fed-Ex or whomever (which will NEVER happen). Maybe 100 marathons by my Seventieth birthday would be more sane. Or..... I might strike it lucky - ("lucky" here is defined as "uncharacteristically strong, no pain, with carefree abandon and a super positive attitude") and be able to recover better in the future and accomplish my original goal. We shall see.
Time: 2:24:05
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Two-year old, Shelby Griffin, who has returned home after three and a half months in the hospital. Miles 4-6: Fred Sanders, my step-father. He is battling cancer with the attitude of a true Marine! Miles 7-9: My brother, John who is still trying to recover from three years of disease in his colon. Miles 10-13: Mike Nolan, the Interim Principal at my beloved Jefferson Academy. Mike took the leadership responsibilities for "my" school and I have prayed that his learning curve would be smooth and blessed as he serves a very special community that I miss, very, very, very much.
My life as an evangelist for running half marathons began three years ago, when I ran this particular half marathon, in foggy and misty San Francisco. I stood in my starting wave, getting ready to start my ninth half marathon with no specific goal in mind as to how many marathons I might run in my lifetime. My-o-my, how things changed that day.
As I lined up for the race today, with 20,000 other runners, I reflected back to that event of three years ago.... there I was, trying to warm myself in the cold San Francisco air, standing in front of two men chatting with one another. Both men were excited about the race but one of the men was expressing his phobia of BRIDGES. That period of ease-dropping plus a deep belly laugh in the hotel room with my son, Cameron, (we had just returned from touring a few wineries in Napa Valley), birthed this blog you have been subjected to for the last three years. You may enjoy reading part of my post of that special day, again. I have conveniently linked part of the July 2007 post onto a page that can be retrieved by hitting the link above this post entitled "An Exert from my blog post, July 2007...." I am ashamed to say, I made tragic fun of this poor man's phobia.... but, oh it was soooooo fun!!!
Running in San Francisco is special, without a doubt. The mere mention of San Francisco tends to make most of us imagine a special destination. It is often spoken of as one of the most charming cities in the world. I certainly experienced that on this trip. I spent part of my day at the Farmer's Market on the Embarcadero, listening to a variety of languages, sampling unusual foods (including, of course, oysters, some fine chocolate and exquisite jams) and listening to musicians play many different instruments including the oboe, the violin, kettle drums, ukuleles, guitars and the saxophone. My dinner was taken at the La Fitte Restaurant where I was expertly served by three beautiful waitresses (maybe they felt sorry for the charming Lebanese man who dined alone). I ordered an unusual pasta dish: It was Roasted Spaghetti in a Olive Oil Nettle sauce (it was green...seriously) with a mushroom, that I was unfamiliar with and had at least 15 letters in its name. I finished my pre-race meal with a wonderful Peach Tart and some French-pressed coffee. OH MY! Add to that, my table allowed me to view Coit Tower, the San Francisco Bay and a tremendous amount of foot traffic that made the people watching aspect of this adventure intriguing.
The race itself was wonderful. The weather was overcast, in the high 50's with very little wind. I ran very strong up to mile ten. The course turned into a leg shredder at that point with the last three miles comprised of 5% rolling hills.
Even with this special experience in San Francisco, Shakespeare's Macbeth may have had it right after all: Is life a tale "told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing?" Well, enter stage right, the Idiot, Mikie Marathoner, with lots of sound and fury in his impetuous blog trying to accomplish a goal that, in the long run, probably means nothing.... except for the shiny medals and the resident pain in the legs, feet and especially the lower back. It may be time for this old man to reconsider his goal, or at least modify it. Ten half marathons a year may be more than I can bear without proper training (which has been limited in the last six months), weekly massages (which I never do) and sponsorship from Nike, Fed-Ex or whomever (which will NEVER happen). Maybe 100 marathons by my Seventieth birthday would be more sane. Or..... I might strike it lucky - ("lucky" here is defined as "uncharacteristically strong, no pain, with carefree abandon and a super positive attitude") and be able to recover better in the future and accomplish my original goal. We shall see.
Time: 2:24:05
Prayer List: Miles 1-3: Two-year old, Shelby Griffin, who has returned home after three and a half months in the hospital. Miles 4-6: Fred Sanders, my step-father. He is battling cancer with the attitude of a true Marine! Miles 7-9: My brother, John who is still trying to recover from three years of disease in his colon. Miles 10-13: Mike Nolan, the Interim Principal at my beloved Jefferson Academy. Mike took the leadership responsibilities for "my" school and I have prayed that his learning curve would be smooth and blessed as he serves a very special community that I miss, very, very, very much.
Slacker Half Marathon, Georgetown, Colorado, June 27, 2010
Race Number 37
This may make you vomit, but I could not stop my psychotic thought process. I took off on the Dos Equis beer commercial....... now you are going to meet ........
Time: 2:30:30. Lactic acid built up early at 10,000+ feet. No legs at the end.
Prayer List: Miles: 1-3: All my new friends at the Colorado League of Charter Schools. Twenty dedicated professionals working hard to support the 160+ charter schools in our state. Mikes 4-6: Jeff Johnson as he mourns the loss of his father. Miles 7-9: Marco Rafanelli as he serves in Kenya, Africa for the month of July bringing water to a poor community. Miles 10-13: Shelby Griffin... two years old, recovering from seizures and still in the hospital after three months.
This may make you vomit, but I could not stop my psychotic thought process. I took off on the Dos Equis beer commercial....... now you are going to meet ........
"The Most Interesting Runner in the World."
- When it is raining, it is because he is sweating heavily from a training run.
- When he ran the Slacker Half at 10,850 feet this weekend, .............angels appeared.
- When he was racing at the Slacker Half, he secreted pheromones. It was said it effected all the runners around him.
- He has been known to cure runner's knee by just walking into a room.
- His organ donation card also lists his feet, his calves and his hip flexors.
- His charm and running enthusiasm is so contagious, vaccines have been made to fend against it.
- Proper race bib placement does not apply to him.
- His blood smells like fragrant massage oil.
- At the Slacker Half Marathon, his legend proceeded him..... like lightening before thunder. There were ooooo's and aaaah's.
- If he were to race a letter mailed from Denver to Newport Beach, he would beat the letter by a full day.
MIKIE MARATHONER....... IS ........ THE MOST INTERESTING RUNNER in the WORLD!
"I do not always run in races to punish myself for being soooo egocentric, but when I do, I prefer running in half marathons. Keep running my friends!" (and keep reading this blog for those moments when you need to purge).
Time: 2:30:30. Lactic acid built up early at 10,000+ feet. No legs at the end.
Prayer List: Miles: 1-3: All my new friends at the Colorado League of Charter Schools. Twenty dedicated professionals working hard to support the 160+ charter schools in our state. Mikes 4-6: Jeff Johnson as he mourns the loss of his father. Miles 7-9: Marco Rafanelli as he serves in Kenya, Africa for the month of July bringing water to a poor community. Miles 10-13: Shelby Griffin... two years old, recovering from seizures and still in the hospital after three months.
Estes Park Half Marathon, Estes Park, Colorado. June 13, 2010
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.
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