Man v. Wild - Since when did life and death situations become so -yawn- boring?

I am watching Man v. Wild right now and I can tell that Bear Grills has run out of places to survive in.  This episode focusses on "the prairies of South Dakota".    I just watched 15 minutes of him walking through ten solid miles of field. Not quite as riveting as the time that he dove naked into a melted Alaskan glacier or ate a chunk of rotting zebra in Africa.  (Dove?  Doove?  Doved?  Isn't a dove a kind of bird?  I am so confused.)

In one pathetically clumsy episode this season, Bear attempts to get honey from a bee's hive.  He ends up getting stung right above the eye.  For the rest of the episode he plops around like the elephant man with a backpack.  His face completely swells up and he can hardly see.  That was actually quite entertaining.

Given that Bear has traversed through and excavated almost every corner of the world, he has limited himself to the surviving the mundane, unscathed, sleepy wilds of South Dakota.  In future seasons, I look forward to him "surviving" the following treacherous ranges:

1.  Spending the night under an I-15 underpass.

2.  Exploring the depths of "Hobbitville" (AKA - Allen Park)

3.  Finding his way out of a McDonalds Playplace.  Having to make a survival fire in tube #5 using the rubber on the bottom of his shoes his old belt buckle.

4.  Surviving a single day teaching the 6 year olds in my classroom.

5.  Finding himself a castaway on a Norwegian cruise line, unable to find a decent meal on the Ledo deck.  Fortunately, he is able to locate the glass elevator.

6.  Finding his way out of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride after Disneyland has closed down.  I can just imagine him wading through the waist high waters.

Just in case the producers have not considered these survival situations yet, I have emailed this list to them.  I think we all know that we can look forward to seeing at least a couple of these ideas used during the upcoming season. 

A timeline of the many tortures that I have put my body through.

I was not always a runner.  In fact, I have a sordid and erratic history with various exercises before I discovered that I enjoyed running outdoors.  I give you a timeline, if you please...

2000 - Three years of marriage and laziness will begin to chug on a few pounds.  When I first noticed my belly expanding, I panicked and we soon inherited my parents decade old stationary bike.  I began peddling my way to sweet freedom from the fat; or so I thought.

I recall that our bike actually had a book rack that my parents had purchased so that you could work out and read at the same time.  It was quite a novel idea, but unfortunately reading became very difficult do to the fact that you were bouncing up and down the seat and you did not have a page turner.  The stationary boring bike workout lasted about a month and then I was done with it.

2001 - My wife went through a period in which she was punching, kicking and kie-bo-ing her way to a better body.  Given that my weight was still gaining steam at a moderate pace, I decided to give it a try.   

My legs would just not bend that high and my kicks looked more like I was trying to get a wet gummy bear off my shoe.  Even though I punched with great authority, I felt like a weakling in comparison to the women on the video.  Further, if you had seen my little dance, my attempts to keep up with the video, and my sky high kicks, you would have rolled with laughter.

2002, or sometime in the past, I am not sure - I became desperate and that is when I purchased the ab rocker electronic shock system.  Sitting on the couch with electric currents running through your belly is of course the absolute best method.  The pounds just slithered away.  

2003 - From the Sharper Image, I purchased a cheap stair climber for $100.  I would step on that thing with such force that it would get unbearably hot and the springs would melt.  I went through 2 of these before I decided that a decent stair climber would probably cost more than 100 bucks.

2004 - This is the year that I went through a phase in which would pull on giant rubber bands.  The workout bands were cheap and they did provide quite a workout.  One evening I had one end of the band knotted around a door knob while the other end was attached to my leg.  I began doing leg lifts when the cord snapped and gave me a very deep, sharp bruise on the back of my leg.  I began to wail in pain.  When Cathi rushed in to see why I was in agony, I simply said, "I think I am too strong for these cords!"  

It took 3 full months for that slash in my leg to heal.

2005 - This is the year that I purchased the Gazelle from Sears.  It turns out that this has been a fantastic piece of workout equipment with one exception:  It is really, really lame.  How can I tell anyone that I have been working out on a Gazelle?  I do have some pride left.  

Let us not forget that at one point during these years, I was thrown off the treadmill in a fit of rage... by the treadmill.  The machine required quite a bit of repair, for which I was grateful that Cathi performed.  I also attempted Yoga at some point.  I was frustrated that I could not place my toes in the small of my back or my legs behind my head.  

I finally learned that running was my thing in 2007, and thank goodness I did.  These experimental body makeovers needed to come to an end for the sake of my body.

Ball crawls and other scary stories to tell in the dark... of a McDonald's Playland.

My Song of the Day reminded me of a time in my youth when I was entrapped in a ball crawl at Liberty Park.  Once that bell rang, you had 15 minutes to jump, slide and dive through a couple thousand air filled plastic balls.  My family's enjoyment with the ball crawl instantly ended one warm afternoon in which my four year old younger brother dove in head first, only to resurface minutes later with a handful of drippy, droopy, poopy diaper. He had found his treasure. I don't believe my Mother ever let us trifle in a public, ball-filled latrine again.  Nor did I want to.  Even for a ten year old, that was extraordinarily gross and it was burnt forever into my consciousness.  

Do ball crawls even still exist?  I haven't seen a true ball crawl in years.  Remember that ginormous ball crawl in the funhouse at Lagoon?  Heaven knows what was crawling around at the bottom of that thing!  I once reached deep down into the pit and felt what I believed to be a jello mold.  As time progressed and I became more knowledgeable, I believe what I really touched was either a tub of melted down jelly bracelets or a discarded breast implant.  

My buddy once said he found ten bucks in that cesspool of plasticity.  Therefore, with every visit, I would take a deep breath and navigate the depths of the germ invested swamp.  I never found ten bucks, but I undoubtably contracted several colds and I think perhaps hepatitis B.  That reminds me, I need to be retested.  

The theory of the ball crawl is that kids will enjoy crawling around in a large vat filled with balls.  Good theory, but kids will pretty much crawl around in anything.  They could have opened a sesame seed crawl at the local park and the line would have gone around the block.  The balls just seemed the most sanitary option and kids would not be shaking seeds out of the ears days after the crawl.

The ball crawl funland has been replaced today by water playthings like the giant water ball at the zoo or the fountains at the Gateway.  I am sure this is for the best.  Parents would much rather see their snotty nosed kids touch a giant, water covered ball than see their snotty nosed kids diving head first into a group of plastic balls that are covered in the snot of a child that is not their own.   - It's the water makes it okay -  it dilutes the snot.  Plus, they must put chlorine in those things, right?

This entire discussion that I am having with myself reminds me of another story. When Lincoln was about 3 years old, he went to McDonalds with his Grandma Yospe.  While the Grandparents ordered the usual cholesterol busters, they allowed Lincoln to play in the tubes of the playland.  In a moment of desperate need, he was not able to find his way out in time and completely sticky'd the inside of a tube... with urine.  My mom said that she could see kids crawl through it while he just stood there and screamed.  Apparently, they could also see the urine just pouring out of the side of the tube.  Once Lincoln was able to navigate his way out of the maze of toddler terror, they left, food in hand.  They were not sticking around to see the fallout of that situation.  However, I am sure that the other parents were very appreciative of Lincoln's gift as their children returned to their table with sticky hands and piss stained levi knees. 

Song of the Day: Mates of State - My Only Offer

Great song here from their newest album.  This husband and wife team is super poppy, super nerdy, super dopey and super awesome.  No wonder I like them so much!  I dig it.  They have about 4-5 albums and I own them all.  Kudos to my buddy Jess for catching me on to them.

(If video is not working, click here to be redirected to the page.)

Just started watching the Muppets with Lincoln and I AM LEARNING A LOT!

We checked out The Muppet Show, season one at the library in hopes that Lincoln will watch it.

In the process of watching this horribly lame show, I have learned a thing or two.  My fond memories of this show clearly gave me a false impression of how good it actually was.  Don't believe me?  Just try and watch an entire episode without rolling your eyes at least 20 times.  Sure, we all have fond memories of the show, but the reality is that is a total load of puppet feces.  I dare you to go back and watch one!

Here is a list of the top things I have learned from watching the first season of this awful program:

10. The most underrated muppet of all time is Dr. Teeth.  Never heard of him?  Exactly!  I am not sure if he is suppose to be a pimp, a dentist or a musician.  My best guess is that he is a combination of all 3.  I'm guessing that by now, Dr. Teeth has an entire "grill".

9.  I am almost 99% certain that Scooter lives an "alternative lifestyle."  

8. Jim Neighbors has to be the snappiest dresser of the entire 70's decade, not to mention the best guest host of all time. 

7. The reason that Beaker always has a frown on his face, now this is just a total shot in the dark here, is that he is constantly blowing up in various explosions.  I believe that may also explain his vocal cord problems.  

6. Fozzie Bear has very low self esteem, most likely from telling sucky jokes.  Either that or because of his explosive back acne.  Again, probably a combination of both.

5.  What language is that chef speaking anyway? He says the same thing over and over: Borgie Borg Borg.  Apparently, he is from Sweden.    I only  know about the language from watching the muppets, but I must say Swedish is the most backward language I have ever heard.  

4. Kermit prefers a 5-string resonator banjo as opposed to a ukulele or mandolin for it's clarity of voice and sound.  Kermit, you sly, sly devil you.

3.  Frogs and pigs do not mate in the natural world, but in the world of puppetry, they can't keep their flippers/hooves off each other.  By the way, I know that frogs and pigs don't mate in the wild for a fact.  I once put a frog on top of a pig.  I even sprayed the pig with perfume.  The frog showed a little interest at first, but quickly hopped off.  It was a worthwhile experiment though.  I know for a fact that Kermit and Miss Piggy were in regular "contact"(getting busy) because of all those kids they had on that 80's cartoon, The Muppet Babies.

2.  ADHD is prevalent in whatever species Animal is in.  After researching this a little bit, I found that Jim Henson never actually addressed if he was actually medicating Animal for this disorder.  However, my gut instinct is that he was not medicated given the animalistic nature in which he played the drums, and his tendency to bite people.  Also, he was a puppet.

1.  Rowlf the dog is a piano playing genius!

A cat eating spaghetti -

One of my favorite "Soup" clips of all time, this is now a running gag on the show, and for good reason!

If I could leave sticky notes around any LDS chapel -

 I got to thinking about how I would label any ward house in the world with my sticky notes.  Here are a few examples with what I came up with:

At the football game with my best buddy, Lincoln

Lincoln and I went for a - Boys Night Out - last night.  We went to the Utah/UNLV game and Mike (My brother in law.) and Ryan (Lincoln's cousin.) filled in as last second replacements for to fill our two neighboring seats.

We had a great time and the Utes proved triumphant in the end.  

I forgot what it was like to take a six year old to a football game.  Lincoln's first and primary interest was bird watching.  He wanted to know where Swoop, the mascot was at all times.  He was concerned for his safety when he was not clearly visible.

Lincoln and his cousin were also captivated by the wave.  He watched with intense focus and as it would come close to us he would say, "Get ready dad. Get ready!"  He was devastated when the wave stopped.

He and his cousin were also intent to get themselves on the Jumbotron.  They would wave their arms and dance on their seats at every opportunity.  In spite of their outreaching efforts, they were not Jumbotronned. 

Lincoln also intently ate his snowcone that he had generously deeply loaded with ever flavor available.  After 15 minutes of slurping almost pure sugar, he sat in his seat uncomfortably.  I asked him if he was okay and he said, "That snowcone was really heavy."  I am not sure what he meant by that, but he said that he thought he would really appreciate a drink of water.  Noting how uncomfortable he looked, slumped over on the bench, I went to buy him some water.

After 15 minutes in line and missing out on quite a bit of action, I returned with a $3.00 Aquifina water bottle.  Lincoln drank the entire thing within 10 minutes.  Fortunately, it diluted most of the sugar sitting in his belly.  Unfortunately, I knew I would be making a bathroom trip in the next hour or two.

Of course, the Utes won and all was well with the world.  We left about a minute early and on our walk home the fireworks were literally directly over our heads.  They were so close I think the boys were actually a bit frightened.

On our drive home, Lincoln told me that he had "so much fun" and then asked me "Did the Utes win Dad?"  I told him yes and that I had fun with him too.  Boys night out!

(By the way, I am beginning to have second thoughts about the "God is not a BYU fan" thing.  After the recent rash of completely um, "lucky" victories, I can't help but reconsider.)

Dear Bronco - God does NOT care about your football team.

Apparently, according to this article in the Deseret News, Bronco says his stripling warriors job is to win football games and to "bring people to Christ".  Oh brother!  

If that is the case, they are absolutely failing miserably at it.  In every corner of the country, when people hear "BYU football" they are filled with angst and hatred for their incredible, shameless arrogance.  If anyone, besides a LDS BYU fan, feels as though they are closer to Christ because of BYU's football program, they are full of crap.

If were are not able to tell already, I love how my Blog O' Cheese allows me to vent about the brain dead, nonsense that comes out of Provo sometimes.  Memo to Bronco:  God does not care about BYU football or any football for that matter.  By stating that he does, you are making the non-BYU fans even angrier at you.  As an active LDS member, I am offended by your assertion.  Further, I hope you lose every game by 50 points - and if that makes me Satan's spawn, so be it.  Go Washington!  [Oh, and Go Utes too.]

Tales of the First Grade whispering whisperer. Shhhh!

Somewhere within my messload of overtalkative, overactive, overhyper (overhyper??) group of First Graders there is a whispering whisperer just begging for my attention.  He is very well behaved and such a sweet kid.   I think he believes that if he asks me questions in a normal voice he will get in trouble and bring shame upon his family.  He will often approach me to have a whispering conversation for a couple of seconds while the other kids are working.  We had such a conversation today.

Randy: [whispering] Mr. Yospe, do you want to come over to my house?

Me:  Thanks Randy.  That sounds really fun, but I can't.

Randy: [looking confused] We have a lot of fun things to do at my house.

Me:  That sounds great Randy, but I really need to stay and play with Lincoln at my house.

Randy:  You could bring Lincoln over to play at my house too. 

Me:  Yes, Randy, I suppose I could.  How about I just bring Lincoln one day to play with you here at school?

Randy: [whisper sighing] Can't you come to my house?

Me:  No, I am sorry Randy.

Randy: Oh, okay.  [Turns to return to his seat.]  He turns back and says, "Mr. Yospe?"

Me: Yes Randy?

Randy: You know my real name is Randall, right?

Me: Yes, I knew that.

Randy: Okay, just checking.

Me:  It's been nice whispering with you Randall.

Randy: [huge smile]  Yeah.

Now that I have run my marathon I need a new, challenging goal. Maybe becoming an underwater scuba clown?

After satisfying my soulful desire to complete a major goal by running myself silly until I bloodied my foot (Yes, I forgot to mention the top of one of my shoes completely bludgeoned my foot.), I am ready to take on a new challenge in life.  I hope to make a new, reachable goal that does not involve physical pain or embarrassing topless moments at the sniagrab sale.  After much deliberation, I have come up with the following four choices:

1.  Be on a reality TV show.  I'd be a perfect housemate on Big Brother or a great castaway on Survivor.  Other possibilities include becoming the first 32 year old married man on the Real World or hosting "SuperMANNY".  Moms would be begging me to come into their home, tell the kids to shut up and sprinkle glittery love nuggets around like they are bacon bits, and then cleaning up the nuggets with a high powered vacuum that they only give mannies because they are too powerful for the female nannies.

I think that becoming a reality show wannabe would be a realistic goal with a lot of upside.  

2.  Learn to play an instrument.  I took piano lessons as a youth.  I was a dismal failure.  I never learned how to read music and after two years I finally quit.  

I am thinking about taking up either the harp or one of those long horns that they play in Switzerland.  Of course, for convenience sake, I would purchase the travel size version of the horn.  Or maybe I would get one that would fold into itself, like a giant pirate telescope.  I wonder if they even make those.  I wonder where I could even take long horn lessons.  

I know if I learned the harp I would get tons of people asking me to play at their weddings.  That would be great, but they would have to accept the fact that I am going to sing while I play. Also that I won't be a conventional harpist in the traditional mold.  I might throw in a fast song or two, just to mix things up.  People that know me will understand, but those that don't might be a little put off. Of course, they shouldn't care that I might sit on a 3 foot, plastic lightening bolt, while I play.  Oh, and I might often play shirtless.  

3.  Learn magic tricks.  We're not talking David Blain here, or even those Vegas white tiger trash.  I would just like to learn 5 or 6 simple tricks that I could use in situations where magic would be useful.  You wouldn't believe the amount of times there has been a lull in a conversation I was having where I thought, "Gosh, I WISH I had a magic trick I could break out right now!"  Maybe just a few card tricks or bending silverware with my mind.  Nothing major.  If I do get good enough, I might add a tiger or two, but I would probably start with puppetry tigers.  I have learned that a good lesson in life is that if you are scared of trying something, it is always best to try it out with puppets first.  

I think that is why Jim Henson was so successful in life.

4. Learn a foreign language.   The obvious one seems to be Spanish, but I want to learn one that will make my Portuguese/Italian speaking brothers jealous.  Maybe something from Africa where I have to click my tongue a lot.  I am thinking Kenyan.  Is that a language?  I want to learn it if it is, then go to Kenya and blow their minds!  Maybe I will go meet that kid I have been sending a dollar a day to for the past 5 years.  When I learn that he has died of malnutrition or malaria, they will ask ME to talk at his funeral.  After all, I know Kenyan and I gave all that money to him.  Who else are they going to get?  Just a thought.

5.  Build an orphanage for abandoned orphans that have been abandoned by other orphanages.  This might be my most ambitious idea, but definitely my most worthwhile.  Who steps up and takes in these orphans that our current orphanages don't want?  That's right, no one.  I could gather funds to build an orphanage for these kids, complete with a cruel, fat, sloppy lady to run it and girls with patchy dresses singing "It's a hard knock life."  The orphanage would also have sky lights for the kids to look out of longingly and very stretchy attics with a long row of beds.   Clearly, most of what I know about running orphanages I have seen from movies. But I will tell you this:  I am going to make being an orphan cool again!  Once she sees my orphanage, Punky Brewster is going to wish she never went to live with that old man! Webster will be wishing he could trade his George and Mam Popodopolus and his secret clock elevator for my killer orphanage.  

I always felt bad for Webster.  What would it be like to be an orphan AND a midget?  That is quite a double whammy to start your life.  I don't feel too bad though, he was adopted by a former NFL star and had a elevator in his grandfather clock!  I always thought that the moral of that show was that life isn't so bad as an African American, midget orphan IF you get adopted by a rich football player with a tiny elevator in his clock.  Plus, you get to call your mom "Mam".  

An excerpt from the diary of Mr. Karl Malone

I just so happened to be reading the Deseret News the other day when I came across this magnificent piece on Karl Malone.   It addresses what every Utahn with half a brain and an ounce of integrity wants an answer to:  Just what is Karl Malone doing with all his free time nowadays?  Actually, if it weren't for the statuesque statue standing outside the Delta... er... Energy Solutions Arena, I would have forgotten that Karl Malone had ever even existed.  Thank goodness they built that statue!  We would have forgotten.

My favorite quote in the article from Karl is, "I write.  I write in my journals things as I see them.  I not writing it to be published, but more for me and my family."  I am not sure if the author of this story meant this section to be humorous, but Karl's perfect grammar in the quote made me make an instant judgement that he would be a fine writer.  I was curious about what Karl might write in his daily journal and so I emailed his publicist.  Thinking I was actually a publisher, and admitting to lying about the "not writing it to be published" part of the story, he emailed me back a excerpt from Karl's journal.  Below is the passage that happened to drop into my lap...

March 8, 2008

Dear Diary,

Karl Malone again.  Karl Malone here.  Today Karl Malone help the Louisiana Tech basketball team lift weights.  It's something Karl Malone does to keep himself busy.  Karl Malone likes to give back to the community services.  It's Karl Malone way of saying thank you.

Karl Malone love to write in Karl Malone's diary.  Karl Malone thinks that it would be a big payday someday.  Karl Malone has unique understanding of the words of the England's language.   Since college, Karl Malone has done a complete 360 degrees in the working of words.  

Karl Malone's hand starts to hurt when Karl Malone writes.  Karl looks all through Louisiana for a computer to type words on, but Karl Malone can't find a computer in the entire state, not even the state of New Orleans!  

Karl still owns a car dealership in Utah.  Not sure how Karl Malone's Toyota cars stays in business this long?  It stayed open much longer than Karl Malone's LA Gear contract lasted.  

Karl Malone still not happy with Karl's current NBA contract.  If Karl Malone don't get deserveded money from ownership, Karl go to LA or maybe start a Karl Malone radio show.  That way Karl Malone can complain about all of the money Karl Malone could be getting from LA Lakers.  Karl Malone needs to contact a Karl Malone accountant to see what kind of retirement contract Karl Malone signed with Utah Jazz.  Karl Malone got to do what Karl Malone got to do.

Someday, Karl Malone give this gift of journaling to his daughters for them to read about all his hunting and fishin'.  This is the best gift Karl Malone could give to his family.  Kay Malone say Karl Malone owed it to his family.  

Stupid Isiah Thomas is so stuipd.  

More tomorrow Diary.

Karl

Post Marathonic Stress Disorder - WARNING! - Somewhat gross. (Especially the pictures.)

I believe that I have acquired a new and disturbing illness. The symptoms include aching muscles, pure exhaustion, sleepiness and an extreme case of the munchies.  

My legs are sore, particularly my thighs.

My buttock cheeks are screaming "ouch!" into the cool September sky.  

Most irksome and painful is my chafed upper thighs.  During the run, I was not bothered by them.  However, and just a warning - this is going to be disgusting, when I pulled off my shorts I noticed a small blood stain had soaked the crotch area.  Worried that I might have injured some of my most valuable assets, I glanced down to see a single drop of blood making it's way down my thigh.  I had chafed (Thank you Eric for helping me learn to spell that word correctly.) so badly that I had opened a pore or two and began to bleed on the insides of my upper thighs.   It was indeed the worst biproduct of my horrible disease.  Fortunately, my valuable assets were intact.  

Since the run I have had a constant urge to eat.  We celebrated yesterday by gorging on all the meat we could eat at the Rodizzio Grill.  I go there often to celebrate large accomplishments.  Nothing says, "I am awesome" like 3.7 ounces of red meat in my belly.  Unfortunately, eating this much meat two hours after running 26.3 miles is a little bit like feeding 5 pounds of jello to a cock fighting rooster ten minutes after a serious bout in which the rooster has been nearly torn to shreds.  The jello is just not going to sit well in that rooster's belly.  Furthermore, I believe that one of the dishes they offered us was in fact bacon wrapped rooster, which just made this entire analogy come full circle.  Sometimes I am amazed at my genius circular logic.  

While I am speaking about the meat palace that is the Rodizzio Grill, allow me to mention the time we went there to celebrate my birthday.  During this time, I had a blisteringly painful toothache that was in dire need of attention.  Unfortunately, my birthday was celebrated on a Saturday and believe it or not, dentists don't usually work on Saturdays.  With ever bite of Brazilian Beef or Prime Rib, I would cringe as a shocking pain would run through my molar and down my arm.  Despite my agony, I pressed on. I would not be denied of my meat! I had an entire bottle of OraGell, which I would apply every 3 minutes or so, or between every meat choice; whatever came first.  It would numb my gums sufficiently so I could gnaw the meat just enough to slide down my gullet.  It was a long and tedious meal, but I left that day with pig grease pouring from my skin and a breadbasket full of red animal flesh making a home for itself inside my intestines.  

Needless to say, I did some extra major damage to that tooth and we made an emergency call to our dentist.  He was kind enough to meet me at his office on a Sunday and drain the large amount of puss that had collected in my gum.  Ah, such fond memories - and I warned you in the title it would be gross!  

After my marathon meal as we traveled along 7th east my belly quivered and my eyelids drooped.  Exhaustion was setting in.  I slept for a couple hours, woke up and ate some more and then slept again.  I am not sure how my body is recovering from this trauma, but it is telling me that it needs food, and a lot of it.  I should have planned my Rodizzio trip for today.  

I am doing well enough now.  Just a little sore and tired, but I expected that would happen.  

The moral of this story?  It turns out there are several: Never visit an all you can eat, magical meat emporium 2 hour after completing a marathon or with a major toothache.  Oh yeah, and the word "chafing" is spelled with only one F.  The word "chaffing" is a word.  The A is apparently short.  Chaffing means to make fun of someone or something in a good natured way.  So, you may proceed in chaffing me for my chafing problem.   Finally, when running long distances in the rain, never wear a thin, white shirt.  You will see why below...

I leave you with pictures of my heroic return from marathoning, one of which I am doing 5 of my final miles on the treadmill.  (I definitely would have won any male wet t-shirt contest!)

Song of the Day: Besnard Lakes - For Agent 13

I love this song.  Of course, my songs of the day are all songs I like, so that should not come as a great surprise.  It's a little slow going, and the video is a tad depressing, but if you listen to it enough it really grows on you.  

Marathon? COMPLETE!

We watched this really strange movie called The Nines last night.  I wouldn't recommend it, but in the movie the number nine continues to pop up everywhere.  The main character begins to notice it more and more and pretty soon, the only number he can think of is nine.

I just ran for 5 hours, 22 minutes and 14 seconds straight!  Well, the last 6 miles were a mix of run and walk and the last couple were pretty much just walk.  Yet, it is funny how a number can get stuck in your brain while you twist and turn it every direction.  Pretty soon, it is not even a number, but an actual object that you are reaching for.  I have become intimately familiar with the number 26.3 these last few hours.  In my mind, I have caressed it, loved it and held it up over my head like that monkey does in the Lion King.  26.3 and I are best friends.  We spit on our hands and then shook.  26.3 laid it's head on my lap while I ran my fingers through it's hair.  26.3 and I skipped rocks on the beach together.  I am really tired.

I began at 6:00 AM and much to my surprise it was perfect running weather; about 60 degrees and dry.  I packed 4 water bottles and 3 Gatoraides and an extra shirt.  I did however, forget to place the requisite band-aids over my nipples.  No worries, I have some very chiseled nipples. Thank goodness I received those iron nipple implants.  The doctor told me that it would be okay because I probably wouldn't milk anything again for the rest of my life.  I am so tired.

The first 3 loops were incredible!  I was making excellent time, even with my very much needed poo break at the local ward house.  With the perfect weather, I felt better than I ever had at mile 10.  This was going to be cake.

Three more loops and after 18 miles I felt like this goal was going to be accomplished.  It had been about 2 hours and 20 minutes and during my run I had seen all the local retail stores open (Including the infamous sniagrab, which is "bargains" spelled backward.), the yearly Murray kids bike race begin and end at the park, all the scout flags be put up and the same cop pass me by about 10 times.  I never knew there was so much going on at 7:00 in the morning in Murray.

The 7th loop is where things got very dicey.  I had just started and the worst possible weather began to pour down on my like tiny anti-marathon missiles.  What the hail was going on?  Did Mother Nature hate my guts?  HAIL!  LOTS OF IT!  AND WITH ONLY 8 MILES TO GO!  Fortunately, I guess, Cathi came looking for me because of the hail and because I told her I would probably be home about 10:00.  It was 10:15 and I still had 8 miles to go.  Oops, guess I miscalculated on that one.  (Actually, I calculated correctly, IF I had gone the same speed every loop.  I failed to consider that with every loop my pace was decreasing considerably.) 

I hopped in the car and we headed home.  8 miles left and I was not to be denied! 

I rushed downstairs and hit the treadmill.  I HATE the treadmill.  The treadmill hates me.  I was once running on the treadmill, increasing and decreasing the speed to my liking.  The rubber mat slipped and the treadmill spit me off into the wall.  I have been hesitant to run on it ever since.  In this case, I did not have an option.  I guess I could have ran around my front room 15,000 times, but that would have been hard to calculate milage on.

I went 5 miles on the treadmill and felt exhausted.  I always seem to tire more easily on a treadmill than on the road.  It could have been that I was nearing the dreaded 20 mile wall as well.  Either way, I began running two minutes and walking one.  I wanted to run the entire marathon, but I thought running 20 miles was pretty decent and at this point my body thought the same thing.  

With three miles remaining, I hopped off and went to check on the weather.  It was a steady rain, but I DEFINITELY did not want to finish this thing on the treadmill.  I hate that thing worse than my Junior High nemesis, Daniel.  

At this point, with three miles remaining, the back of my knees had become unbearably stiff.  I knew that it was going to be a long 3 mile loop, but I girded up my loins (as the Bible says) and girded up my socks too.  I braved the rain and began running down the block again.

I ran about 30 yards and then the back of my knees informed me that they would be stopping.  I told my knees that I understood and then we agreed that they would be walking 30 yards and then "running" (not really running anymore, more like a jogging hickup) 30 yards.  It was settled.  

About half way through the last loop, where the retail shops are located, I realized people were staring at me.  My white shirt was soaking wet and I looked like I had just been enimatized by a long fingernailed doctor.  I glanced down at my chest to see that you could see right through my white shirt and into my lead lined nipples.  They were looking at my nipples!  Those nipple lookers!  Doesn't anyone have any respect for a man on his last two miles of a marathon anymore?  I really could have cared less at this point though.  That number, 26.3 was winking at me, The Swedish bikini team could have been there, I could have been running pantless and at this point, I would not have given it a second thought.  Two more miles and I would be a marathoner.

I limped up the final hill, every muscle in my body begging me to stop.  The rain began to pour and I knew the end was near.  I ran the final .3 miles and into the waiting arms of... no one.  It was pouring and I was now an hour and a half past my scheduled arrival time.  But, I really could have cared less.  My mind and body were so fatigued, I really wasn't sure if I was actually home anyway.  Cathi and the boys did come out on the porch and cheer for me and that is really all I wanted.  

26.3 miles is no longer my friend.  We got to know each other and I decided that she is too ruthless and difficult to really get along with.  Plus, she wears overalls.  I can't stomach being friends with anyone who wears overalls.  I will stick with all the people who left comments of support for me.  You are my real friends.

One final note:  I would NOT use the Hillcrest Ward bathroom for the next three days or so if I were you.  Running a marathon makes evil things come out of your body.