Dear Mother Nature,
I started this note yesterday but I figured, What the Hell?!?! And thought I’d finish it here. Thanks for the rain yesterday. It made my Long Run Oh So MUCH more interesting. As if running 20 miles on antibiotics with a sinus infection isn’t like a day at Disney in and of itself. Running 19 miles in a torrential downpour was fanfuckingtastic.
Character building, really. And you know I need a ill’ more character. I’m a goddamn Chip-Dale-Pluto-Minnie Mouse Hybrid ALREADY. But what’s a little more, right? Character is good for the soul. At least the rain washed away the current of snot running down my face. That is ALWAYS a plus. No chapped nose for me. No M’am. If Blowing Snot Rockets becomes an Olympic Sport, you can most definitely count on me medaling and rescuing puppies in the process if need be. (U-S-A! U-S-A! Blow Colby, Blow!) So thanks again! Oh. And Bee Tee Dub. Did you have a hand in my sinus infection too? Or is that another department? Please advise. I know every run can’t be all Glitter Rainbows and Unicorns. But how about one? One. Run. That’s all I’m asking for. One run where I’m not soaking wet, frozen solid or blown to bits. One run that isn’t some Bullshit Bombogenesis Polar Vortex or better yet, how about one that’s only 15 degrees lower than the average temperature instead of 25? Here’s a fun fact I learned yesterday! Did you know that Glide stops working in the pouring rain? Yeah! How about that?! Know how I figured that out? When I hopped in a hot shower, borderline hypothermic and screamed like a banshee when the
rubbing alcohol water hit my open wounds developed after hours of wet rub. No worries though. Scabs are sexy. Hot even. And the best part of yesterday? The piece de la résistance, if you will? Was you getting off your crabby ass and pushing the sun out as I made the right hand turn onto my street, exactly one mile from home. 19 Miles of Rain + 1 Mile of Sun = Joy. Nice touch. I can’t WAIT to see what sort of bullshit tomfoolery you pull on Marathon Day. Don’t go changing. You’re a peach. Really. You are.