Runners are a different breed of folk altogether
I've always admired runners for their dedication to the sport, rising in the early morning to jog for miles for their cardiovascular health and overall fitness.
My own precious Duh-hubby is a runner, getting up in the dark every morning to gallop through our neighborhood for 40 minutes, taking great care not to wake me on his way out the door.
I prefer to watch fitness from a distance, say, a nice outdoor cafe, where I can smile encouragingly at passing triathlon participants whilst wiping chocolate croissant glaze off my mouth.
"See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya" runs cheerfully on a loop through my brain, though this is born of laziness and sloth, and I realize that Runners Are Better People.
I have several close friends who have run marathons, a word which is actually derived from two Swahili words: "mara" which means "to die a horrible death" and "thon" which means "for a stupid T-shirt."
Look it up.
They squirt little packets of brown gel into their mouths every few miles for protein boosts.
I'll join them as soon as they can condense that to tiny little lasagna casseroles.
They speak of endorphins released and something called "runner's high," which just seems like so much trouble. Wouldn't it be easier to just sit around and sip some yummy Firefly sweet tea? That works for me, and you don't even sweat.
Nearly everyone I know runs, either in the morning or at night after work.
I know because now that it gets dark earlier, I almost hit a few of them while I'm trying to back my car out of the driveway.
I wish they'd move.
But you know who I really admire? The Arizona jogger who, just last week, was attacked by a rabid fox and ran a mile with the animal's jaws clamped onto her arm. She told deputies that she was jogging along a trail when a fox leapt out and bit her leg. So she calmly grabbed the fox by the neck and kept running.
Wearing the fox wrapped around her like it was one of those glassy-eyed fur stoles elderly church ladies used to wear, the jogger determined to take the fox with her to have it tested for rabies.
She jogged the last mile back to her car, pried him off, tossed him in the trunk and drove to the hospital.
Now, I don't know about y'all, but if I'm out for a jog and a rabid animal latches onto me, there will be no need for testing on account of I WILL HAVE ALREADY DROPPED DEAD.
The World's Bravest Woman is now receiving rabies shots, as is the poor animal control officer who got bit while trying to remove it from the car.
I believe we can all agree on one thing: Running can kill you.
Pass the croissants.
Original Post on Sat, Nov. 15, 2008
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