In a hopeless place
Well, Boy and Girl, my two faithful followers whom I’m sure have been completely bereft in the dearth of recent posts on my world-famous blog, I thought I would update you on the two Brains thing.
Apparently in addition to one Brain being able to completely hijack all reasonable or unreasonable plans, intentions, or actions on the part of the other Brain and myself without any advance notice, the Brains can also, apparently, completely disengage and watch from a distance as someone does something ridiculous and in which either Brain may refuse at the last moment to participate, leaving me standing forlorn at a start line or 7-8 miles into a trail.
My proof comes in the form of a happy email announcing gaily the confirmation of my registration for the Sylamore 50K. That would be the registration I completed this afternoon while sitting here on my Biofreezed falling off butt.
Brain 1 is tee-heeing like a kindergartener, she said BUTT. Fine, laugh away jerk, where were you when I noted on the application that I am a male who desires a large shirt? Thanks for noticing when I got the confirmation.
Thanks also for noticing the shirt error first, so I could email the RD with the size change and then noticing 13 seconds later that I’m now a male so I could email the RD again to request a sex change without having to travel to Sweden.
You can see that I’m trapped in a hopeless place – which, thank you so not once again, dear Brains, now I’ve got Rhiana’s We Found Love stuck in my damn head, is it not bothering the two of you, since you’re the ones IN my HEAD? Apparently not, as you aren’t shutting the godforsaken earworm off.
Interestingly registration filled up in less than 30 minutes leaving many runners sad. They are sad they are not going to go run 25K or 50K in rocky hills in Arkansas in February where it might well snow on you while you cross the freezing creek not once, but twice.
You know friends, it’s no wonder your non-running buddies look at you and back away just a bit. Here I sit, on the DL, having just scrapped plans for two distance races, Biofreezing half my body – and I just paid good money for another race.
Are we crazy? Stubborn? Stupid? Delusional? No wonder friends and family shake their heads and sigh. And those are friends and families that are runners! Sir Hubs hates marathons. Every time I register for a distance race he just gets The Look and sighs slightly. Hubs is currently plotting to get into Ironman FLA 2014.
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, THERE’S A FREEKING MARATHON AT THE END OF THE IRONMAN. (I’m yelling now, aren’t I?) AFTER he swims over 2 miles in a flipping ocean and bikes 112 miles and is probably getting just a tad tired and still facing a 26.2 mile run. How the hell does he get to the conclusion that I’M crazy??
Brain 2 just chimed in that I might want to note that Hubs is not talking about his brains in 3rd person.
I’d like to point out that Hubs has brains that actually work, but I won’t because then I’ll be arguing with my own self and it’s all getting rather confusing.
