Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

I didn’t see that one coming.

Well, over here in wonderland it’s been a merry-go-round of crazy people registering for races and memberships and emailing me to find out if they can contract for services.  I’m kinda shaking my head.  I understand Forbes and the like have criteria they use, formulas for determining which cities get slapped with unfittest places to live, unhealthiest population, etc., but I sure wish someone from those groups would show up at the Road Race 5K starting line, 1,315 runners all the colors of the rainbow, towing the line, Garmins locked and loaded, The Voice Of MRTC bellowing GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORRRRRRRRRRRRRNING RUNNNNNNNNNNNERS!

There was not a lot of unfit unhealthiness hanging around that morning.

There were a few people with headphones blaring so loudly that they could not hear the car behind them honking and fellow (un-hearing impaired) runners screaming CAR BACK! repeatedly.  This is what I think:  If you cannot run without music blaring so loudly into your head that you cannot hear fellow runners yelling and repeated car honking, you need to go see someone for your hearing loss.

Thus we can conclude from this story that running can cause deafness.

Here’s something you two may not know:  Triathlons can cause blindness.  True.

By the way, I did go on to do a 2nd triathlon because apparently even though I am taking my medication regularly it isn’t working properly.  I wanted to do a 3rd, which was this weekend, but I am also training for a marathon and with 20 miles to run this morning I thought it prudent not to blow out 1-1/2 or 2 hours worth of energy the day before.  I did that a few weeks ago when I did several hours of yard work and then did 16 miles the next day.  It was carnage.  Ugly, ugly, ugly.  If that run had a personality it would have been a cross between that idiot that owns Abercrombie and Fitch and the car salesman who screams the entire commercial.  Which, how the hell he sells any cars, I don’t know.  I HAVE A DEAL FOR YOU!!! COME ON OVER!!!! I CAN GET YOU INTO A CAR TODAY!!!!!  Hey, I can get me into a car today, too.  And it’s not yours.

The thing about Speedos is, no one can really wear them well.  Even Olympic swimmers.  I look at the TV and nervously slide my glance away, the anorexic young things have stomachs so flat I’m positive the Speedo actually has nothing to grip and any second now that sucker is heading straight for the floor.  Look at them next Olympics.  They have no butt, no hips and no stomach.  The poor Speedo is hanging on for dear life.  “Ohhhh no….he’s diving into the pool!!  HOLD ON!”  Meanwhile a nation of 18-22 year old females hover on the edge of the couch, watching intently.  “I didn’t know you were so interested in sports, honey,” wonders their collective fathers.

And if those incredibly fit, flat-tummied guys can’t, I can tell you for absolute certainty who else can’t:  that 60-something guy at the triathlon yesterday.  I saw him riding up and because I am so finely tuned into the universe I knew – I KNEW – this was a cluster looking for a place.  I tried not to look but it’s like going to WalMart on a Saturday morning in July.  Oh, crap.  I can’t unsee that.   OOPS, I can’t unsee that.  OH SHIT, I really can’t unsee THAT.  As someone once said, it’s like watching two watermelons fight their way out of a bag.

So I saw Mr. Speedo (that’s not his real name.  I made that up.  I don’t really know his real name and if offered the opportunity to know his real name I would decline, loudly and probably not using the manners my momma taught me.)  Anyway, Mr. Speedo rode up to the transition area on his bike in the little bitty Speedo and nothing else except his transition bag.  I’ve noticed at WalMart on Saturdays that as people age they start to sag a bit, and it appears that no specific body parts are exempt, if you get my drift.  I’m not positive but I think I heard a tiny voice coming from the direction of the Speedo say “For the Love of All That’s Holy someone save me”, but that could have been my eyeballs talking, I’m not sure.  At any rate maybe he has poor vision and XS and XL all look the same.

I walked off and tried to find someone to talk to so I could get the image stuck on my eyeballs to start to fade.  You know, like if someone next to you says, HEY!  DO. NOT. Look at the sun! you immediately stare straight at the sun even though your brain is screaming DON’T and then you have a huge orange ball floating in front of everything you look at for 10 minutes and you really can’t see anything else except around the edges.  I found my friend Johncharles and he’s easy enough to talk to that you can visit with him even if there is a large blob burned into your retinas and you can only see the outline of his head and his face is obscured.  Eventually I felt better.

Later I found my other friend, Hermione (all names, by the way, have been changed to protect the innocent).  We went over to the swim exit and visited with Johncharles.  I was turned to talk to Hermione so my back was to the boat launch as the runners came out of the water.  I saw her face contort, terror and disbelief in her eyes as she whispered, “Ohhhh…gawd…”

I knew.  I knew what she was looking at and I turned my head anyway, yep, Mr. Speedo (whom, I should amend, is, I’m sure, a very very nice man and someone’s daddy and I will get several extra days in timeout in Heaven for this blog but I can’t stop myself now, I have to finish this story so you will be warned and will know why blindness could occur).

I turned back but poor Hermione was still a bit stunned and moving slowly.  “Ohhh…no…we have…testicle.”

DON’T LOOK DON’T LOOK DON’T LOOK OMG DO NOT LOOK it took everything I had not to look but I succeeded.  I want to live to see my grandson’s sweet face one more time.

“…we have…testicle” she said, softly.

“…we have…testicle contact…” she softly updated me as my mind exploded.

“…and…testicle…is secured.” she concluded.