by Mike
Rank | August 8, 2004
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Chicks dig athletic
guys. Apparently, they also dig guys that
run like crap and sweat uncontrollably while
doing so.
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Start your own training plan!
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When training for a race, any
athlete will tell you it’s important to have a strict
and healthy practice regime. I, however, am not an
athlete. Not even close. So when preparing for a five
kilometer run on Saturday, I really didn't train at
all. I ran for about twenty minutes on Wednesday.
Before that, the last time I had ran was a week earlier
in Colorado. My original plan there had been to do
a fairly heavy practice schedule since I was at a
higher altitude. Didn't happen, although I did go
to a baseball game which sort-of counts like an athletic
activity.
So I was going into this race unprepared and somewhat out of shape. Not a problem, I figured. I’ll get a good nights sleep, eat a healthy dinner, go for a jog in the morning and be all set for the race at 6 that evening.
Again, didn't happen.
Although I'm still not sure how it happened, dinner ended
up consisting of:
Six Margaritas
Half a bowl of Chips and Salsa
Three beers
Half a spicy beef stick
Technically, dinner didn't end until last call around
2 AM. But I figured I still had the morning to redeem
myself and get ready for the race.
After sleeping in until around ten or so, I had breakfast with a friend at a local bar. Since it was right about noon and I had the whole afternoon to get ready, I figured a beer with my meal would be fine. We pass the time watching a drunken couple straight from the trailer park at the bar. At one point, the man loses his footing and falls, taking several empty barstools with him. His wife/girlfriend/sister/all of the above becomes belligerent at one point and chases one of the waitresses around, complaining about something.
Since pool is free, it seems
a shame to not have another beer and shoot a few games.
After the third game, another bar patron puts his
initials on the board to play next, then sits on the
outdoor patio. His initials are “AC”. When we’re finished
with our game, we yell both begin yelling in unison
“Hey air conditioning! You re next!” He comes in perplexed,
asking why we called him that. We point to his initials
and he explains that his name is actually “Zac”. Zac
has crappy writing and spells him name in a lame way,
so we continue to call him Air Conditioning. He is
not amused. After winning the game, he goes to eat
his hamburger and doesn't talk to us again.
As we stop playing to have another beer, I decide that
I'm going to have to skip going for a jog and will
just do some stretches beforehand. When I check the
clock a little later, I see that it’s 4:15. Since
I still needed to register, I had to get to the race
before 5:30 to get my number and pay my fees.
 I
pay the tab and walk home at a hurried pace. It occurs
to me that I'm in no condition to walk a lap, much
less three miles. However, this is no ordinary race.
It is the “Elvis is Alive” race, where a number of
the race participants dress up as Elvis and run, with
an Elvis impersonator giving a concert at the end
. There's not a chance in hell I'm missing this, so
I change into my running clothes, sprint several blocks
and catch a cab to the race.
The participants do not disappoint, as many of them are
sporting faux sideburns, black pompadour wigs, sequined
jumpsuit's and all other sorts of interesting getups.
There are several kids that are dressed in full garb
as well. One idiot is dressed up in a full “Tigger”
costume. I hate him and begin making secret plans
to trip him during the race.
My  friend
Katie showed up with her sister and friend, all adorned
in matching, homemade outfits. On all of their rear
ends she had ironed on the King’s catchphrase, spelling
out "Uh Huh Huh". This amuses me because it reminds
me of a method I had come up with during an 8K run
I did in March. It’s a simple process that allows
you to maximize your energy while filtering out the
pain and exhaustion of running.
It’s called “Follow the Cheeks”
Although I don't have any scientific
credentials or backing, I'm fairly certain that most
scientists would agree with me that there is something
hypnotic and therapeutic about watching a woman's
buttocks as she is running. As an important disclaimer,
I do not recommend going out and chasing after random
women as they run. It’s very upsetting to them and
you could get yourself killed by doing this. Probably
not, but it is possible.
But when you're surrounded by
a sea of thousands of people running, it doesn't make
a difference where you look. Just spot a pair of spandex
encrusted hams that are keeping a good pace in the
horizon and focus on that. Eventually, you hardly
even realize you're running. Just make sure to occasionally
look around to make sure you don't plow yourself into
a light post.
For this particular race, though, I decided to take a different approach. I felt invincible and decided I was going to go balls out right from the gate. Not since I was ran in High School had I felt this good, which seemed really odd. There was no doubt that his euphoria would not last long. Pretty soon, my anti-training regiment would come to an end and I would be hurting in the worst way. So I figured sprinting the first quarter mile or so would be a great way to start and help to end the ordeal that much quicker.
Somewhere around the first mile marker I felt myself beginning to fade. Even worse, it then occurred to me that I really, really had to use the restroom. I flashed back to a story one told by a member of my High School cross country team about a race where he had the same thing happen to him. He ended up crapping his pants and said that by the time he reached the finish line, it had smeared all the way down his legs.
“But” he added enthusiastically as a disclaimer “I did
manage to place in that race and get a medal!” We
didn't really talk to that guy much after that.
To make matters worse, somewhere between the second and
third mile marker, I was being passed by runners who
were pushing a person in a wheelchair. This is always
upsetting. In my last race, I was passed by a guy
who didn't have legs. Instead, he had the giant metal
spring contraptions that were attached as prosthetic
legs. It was a crippling blow, pun intended.
About this same time I spotted
Tigger, keeping a steady pace several hundred yards
ahead of me. I made a silent vow to myself that I
would not let myself be beat by a retard in a full
body costume. After spending five fruitless minutes
trying to catch him, I decide to retract the vow.
To comfort myself, I remind myself that I've gained
fifty pounds since I was a cross country runner, so
technically it’s like I'm running while carrying four
twelve pound bowling balls. That makes me feel better
about myself.
My new plan is to readjust my goal and simplify it to
beating my co-worker, who was keeping a good pace
and had caught up to me.  As
we went into the last mile, I could see her drifting
into the horizon in front of me, but I was determined.
In the final one-eighth stretch of the course, I clenched
my cheeks (yes, those ones), pulled out what power
I had left and jetted past her. She tried to sprint
past me at the last minute, but I managed to book
right past her and onto sweet, sweet victory. Damn,
I burned her good.
Yes, I'm gloating about beating a girl in a race. This
is what my life has become.
My official time was 34:32,
but that doesn't account for the time spent before
I actually started running, waiting for the people
in front of you to get going, so my actual time was
closer to 32:32. Initially, my goal had been to finish
within 29 minutes. But under the circumstances, I
consider it a victory that I'm still alive.
My next race is called a “One
Hit Wonder” race, where they have music stages set
up along the entire course. As you're running, you're
inspired with live performances from such classic
artists as Tone Loc, Flock of Seagulls, General Public
and Tommy Tutone. As though that wasn't awesome enough,
the after-party is headlined by none other than the
slightly Christian Rock powerhouse, Devo.
My goal for that race will be to beat as many girls as
I can. Yes, it’s shallow. But it’s attainable and
that's what a good goal should be.
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