A special congratulations to roommate Nick, above, who with my negative reinforcement skills, ran his race seven minutes faster than he expected. Here, he takes an ice bath after the race. He is not a very happy man.
I am really upset I didn’t run in the Kansas Half Marathon this last weekend. My reason for not running was I didn’t think I was in peak condition. If I’m going to race, I’m going to race—I’m going to push the people ahead of me to the brink, cut corners tight, sprint the finish, and puke after the finish line (my calling card).
I need to man up and just run for fun.
Despite my hour and forty-five minutes of sleep the night before, and the fact that I was drinking up to and including two hours before the race, as I watched all my friends running and gloriously finishing, I felt jealousy melt through me. I was seething in disgust for my decision. I exercised my frustration by yelling at everyone to “KICK IT IN!!”
Before I blabber on, congratulations to all my peeps. Nick, Clayton, Jonathan, Faith, Melissa, Kit, Sarah, and even congratulations Guy Nelson, who on a whim signed up to run the 5K, his first. He finished moderately, to boot.
So, not running in this race was a horrible decision. “Oh I’m not in my best shape yet! (tiny violin)”
STFU and GTFO you idiot!
Point taken, Self.
Horrible decisions seem to either have a domino affect, help dig the hole deeper, or compound. However you cliche it, I decided to make more bad decisions and sign up to run way more races. And by races I mean long-ass races. Sweet, let’s torture myself for fun.
But, as all my Dog Days friends would have me know, these races are the ultimate test of self-worth, mental and physical capacity, and a celebration of the human experience.
I’ll quit being so dramatic now. Regardless of fitness, I’ll sign up for races and baby them if all my friends are doing it, because it’ll be fun like always. I’ll run more marathons and crazy races, because I have two functioning legs and determination, and I shouldn’t waste them. And I will definitely continue to negatively reinforce my friends, because they don’t need all that “You’re doing great!”/”Keep it up!” talk to make them think they’re freaking Prefontaine. “NICK! Don’t embarrass us! Speed the f*ck up!”
He was doing fine, but it definitely helped him. The people around him laughed, and wasted energy doing so. For the next minute he had more oxygen pumping through his blood and muscles, and more determination to make me eat my words. I was joking obviously. I was also still drunk I was also yelling, loudly. My bad.
Red Dog (looking at the giant bubble thing people can get in and walk around on the field with): Did anyone drink last night? I dare you to get in that ball.
Eric: Red Dog, I was drinking until 4:45 a.m. (It was 9:30 a.m. at this point).
Red Dog: (Good chuckle)