It was only around mile two, but my insides -- mind, guts and muscle -- had already formed a coalition of the unwilling. They'd decided that running was overrated, that running in the rain and the cold was WAY overrated, and that running three miles in the rain and the cold was moron-level overrated. Continuing to operate at this level would only prove that I'd lost my ever-loving mind. And you know, even when you're down to a number as low as one, it can be daunting. Especially if you're a barely-reformed lazyass. It was enough, for a split-second, for me to just think, Hey Chris, good work today. You got up at 6:30 in the morning and drove through the slop, and ran two whole miles! Pat yourself on the back, sir! Now, let's walk that last mile.
It was never a serious thought. It is just the thought that runs through my head, after the first sign of pain or discomfort, every thirty seconds when I'm running. It always has--ever since I was in middle school and ran cross-country and track because my Christian school didn't have other sports (you know, like baseball, basketball, football or anything normal people actually call a sport)--and it seems it always will. And though I already wasn't going to stop because stopping wasn't the plan, I got my second wind when I heard Run DMC shout: "Unconceivable, unbelievable! Grammar like a hammer, information receivable! Sent by the Lord, here and abroad with words well adored; now they can't be ignored!"
Yes, yes. I know what you're thinking. How in the world did I arrange to have Run DMC performing "Tougher Than Leather", the theme song to their movie of the same title, while I was running? Is Chris Horne really got game like that?
Yes and no. I do have game, but not like that. See, a long time ago, a man named Apple invented these little music devices. His buddy Walkman had, years and years before, invented something similar. The difference between the two was that Apple's do-hickey didn't require tapes or even CDs--it works on magic! So, in summary, I have something like what Apple made. My music do-hickey was created by a man named Sansa. All things are invented by men, and they always name it after themselves.
My great-great-great-great grandfather saw a kazoo, understood its potential, and crafted a larger one of brass (or some likewise shiny metal), and named it after us. Back then, there was no 'e' at the end. And because he was a marketing genius, all similar instruments--be they French or creme--carried the "Horn" brand. In fact, even if there's a bunch of kinda similar instruments, with different inventors and different names and shape, when they're together you call it a horn section. Apparently, Great (x4) Granddaddy Adolphus Horn was almost as smart as I am. One day, I'll invent something and my great (x4) grandson will be all cocksure talking about me and my accomplishments. Little shit.
Anyhow...
So I went running, down in Warner Robins, and I didn't quit. Like Rambo, I would not surrender. Like Rocky, I would not let my weaknesses overcome me. NO! I would overcome them! Plus, I knew that my girlfriend would be like totally impressed, and there was free donuts and shit in the reception area so if I hurried up, I'd get to have as many as I wanted and wouldn't have to deal with all sorts of crappy leftovers that people put their stupid fingers all over. Gross.
Then all of a sudden, this little pissant of kid shot out from behind us as we approached the finish line. I was running as hard as I can--like twice the speed of thought--and he just whistles right by. And don't think like this was some professional running kid. He wasn't even dressed like a runner. He was dressed like a little pissant of a kid that'd just come from the toy store and was like, "Oh, I think I'll run in this race today even though I don't have the finest in Nike knockoff running apparel like that really cool looking dude that I'm passing right now." I was going to trip him but there were a lot of cameras and I figured if his parents are anywhere, they'd be at the finish line, right? Besides, I was exhausted. If his dad was half as fast as him, well... I could outrun him because I was only two seconds slower than that kid, who actually seemed like a nice guy and all when we got done.
My finish time? Under 27 minutes. That's a little more than eight minutes a mile.
3 comments:
Chris Horne running three miles all in a row? 5 months ago I'd would've bet my booger collection that your legs would've fallen off before you got 200 yards. I'm impressed, seriously. But guess what? You can wipe that low carb turkey ceasar wrap eatin' smile off your your face cause you're about to get the challenge of a goddamn lifetime. I've been waiting for this moment ever since I sized up your dirty mug last summer and now that your in heavy breathing shape I can finally feel decent about whipping your ass in...the pasty man's challenge. I challenge you to beat me in a series of events to test your new found "self discipline" and "health". Me? Ive been on a steady diet of feta burgers, naps and 750 ml bottles of McCormicks vodka mixed with hate. But I'd wager my imaginary mortal soul that my Prefontane like will-power could overcome your girlish health kick. I'd even let you listen to your inspirational 80's music. Whatever retarded uplifting tune you hop jog to could never defeat the voice thats been looping in my brain, calling me a panty waste, for the last 23 years; the voice of Jack Palance.
You name the events, I'll give your dreams a lemon juice paper cut.
-Resintern
Drew, you're on. Field Day. Soon.
Sorry the kid dropped the hammer on you....you could have redeemed yourself at Dirty Runs the City where I dirtly won the race. Because I dropped the hamma' on her....maybe one day someone will say "I've already heard this story" and I'll quit telling it but until then....
You posted to my fiance-church-bouncer blog and so now I'm returning the love to you.
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