May 2, 2009
I have some fine friends. I have some friends that are finds. All of my friends have quirky qualities that set them apart from the masses. Qualities that make 'em extra special.
Today I'd like to pay tribute to the friends I run with who are of the female gender. (To be concise and save the poor keyboard from an overuse injury, I could have said pay tribute to my running girlfriends, but today's post may turn out to be an exercise in wind-baggery. Might need extra oxygen.)
So why pay tribute today to the girls that I run with and not the boys ('cause they're just that - boys)? Why not the friends down the street ('cause I do that a lot), or the friends I meet for Tilapia and Tea on Tuesdays ('cause that's my dad)? Why not the intelligent blogging buddies that I've acquired ('cause I'll do that next week)?
Today I pay tribute to the Girlfriends Who Run because I've returned from a delightful half marathon jaunt to the metropolis of Hurricane City. I went with a running girlfriend. We were gone 25 whole hours. It was a good 25 hours and now I have a fer-sure pass to the St George Marathon - yipee.
That's not the only reason, however. (As always, some history is required. I'll get started.)
In most foot races of mileage in the teens or beyond, school buses are required to get you to where the race starts. Takes hours. Flashbacks of youth will remind of days when you're forced to listen to the bus driver's 8-track collection of Hootie and the Blowfish or the Carpenters (or Hank Williams Sr, or.... you name it!)
After any bus-to-the-start-o-the-race ride, it's customary to relieve yourself. Actually - fluid and/or waste evacuation is a requirement of the human body, so customary isn't quite the right word. But due to pre-race jitters and whatnot, most feel the need to drain the digestion right before undertaking a race - even if it isn't truly necessary - thus making it customary. (No pun intended on undertake, by the way. Most do finish without dying so an undertaking complete with an undertaker is rarely needed. Notice I said most. Bwah Hah Hah Hah.)
Incidentally, I'm having some serious trouble with spelling today... spelled botty instead of body. A sure sign I ran hard enough because a good run kills brain cells. Like dope. Or hi fructoes korn seerup.
Where the heck was I going with this? Oh yeah, waste evacuation.
While in line for the pleasantries of the portable potties I gave a good grin towards my travelling companion (her name is Downhill Diva because she's wicked fast on the downhill.) At that moment I was filled with gratitude for my running buddies of female orientation.
What quirky qualities give reason for this gratitude? Let me tell you!
Girls who run are tough, good-to-go and leave the prissy at home. They refrain from remarks of stink while in line for the loo or a crowded restroom. (Isn't that the purpose of restrooms? For housing stink? Why make a comment about it? I mean seriously. The only thing worse would be to go home and blog about it.)
Girls who run ignore the passing of odoriferous gas and and find ways to mask each other's "noises". They know how to use the wilderness to take care of business - all without making a big deal about it.
These girls can blow a nose without tissue or stopping, spit like cowboys, and leave a biodegradable deposit behind a bush when necessary. They have been known to spin their own cotton-poly-wicking-blend during a 10-mile run using the wool from six sheep and some margarine. They're tough. They're resourceful. They leave their puritanical propriety at home.
Feeling prudish, finicky and genteel? Come a' running with me! I'll have you blowing farmers, spitting and farting in no time.
Your momma will be so proud.