Lost in the Crowd...

I promised you greatness and I shall deliver. From what species must one originate to possess the following DNA disaster...binge eater, marathon runner and Valium addict? Can't be sure but I do know the previous sentence pretty much brings you up to speed on my comings and goings over the last few weeks. As much as I like keeping you abreast of all my ridiculous behavior....I often get lost somewhere between eating to forget, forgetting to eat (umm yeah that just never happens but I've always wanted to say that so let's go with it) and just forgetting in general. I tried adding Yoga to the mix, hoping to improve my focus. I can't be sure there's room in my genes for Yoga. Let's face it, there's not much room in my "genes" period. I do try and give myself "focus type" projects every now and again...hoping it will help me with my Chi and Yang....or whatever. Take today for example....I spent 6 hours baking 4 dozen Christmas cookies and 2 loaves of bread... exactly 45 days before Christmas. That's planned, productive and premeditated behavior. Focus people focus. No one stares down an oven window like a fatty. I can single handily sense the browning of a cookie long before the buzzer goes off. Namaste.

One thing you should know about me....I may be fat but I don't often sit still. From a young age I learned that chasing the ice cream truck was the key to cancelling out calories....thus spawned my love of running. However, once again, Mother never told me that it wasn't appropriate to chase the ice cream truck at 37....oh and that I would basically have to chase it about 400 miles as my metabolism would come to a screeching halt after the age of 10! Thanks Mommy. You play the hand you are dealt so I kept up with the running. Except now, instead of chasing ice cream trucks, I run from my fat ass. I have yet to leave it in the dust... but that's a lot of dust. I fear public works isn't quite prepared for such a crisis. I like to run marathons. Why? Bcs then I can say, "I run marathons." It's that simple. It's especially fun to say it when you weigh a metric ton. You get the usual look of, "Wow, you ran a marathon" coupled with a look akin to Oprah revealing both of her parents are actually white. Yup. Just doesn't fit. So it's fun for me....in a painful sort of way. I pretty much use it as my response to, "What did you do this weekend?..for about 6 months. If I keep my audience limited to the reality TV/Crumbs in the Recliner Crowd, I can squeeze a good half a year outa one race. Productive, planned and premeditated.

Marathon logistics are no joke. At the start, runners are corralled like cattle according to their predicted finish. Much like fatties lie about their weight...the skinny types LOVE to lie about their estimated finishing time.... "Ah....yeah....I've been running half marathons in about 4 hours so put me down for 2:05 to finish the full!" Unless you are blacker than an Ace of Spades or running from the law....I call BS! The fatties....we play it cool. We position ourselves waaaaay in the back where one might expect to see spandex being worked over like a whore in church. However, I'm here to tell you that a fatty will come from behind and rise to the top, like a donut floating on top of the oil ready to be taken from the pot! Oh we may start in the fat pack but we know that 26.2 miles down the road awaits 3000 calories that need to be replenished! I'm not saying we'll get there with the Kenyans...but we'll scoot past a few quarter pounders along the way. When I say "we" I don't mean "me" per say. I'm working on tweaking my feral fatty gene to accommodate speed in relation to relative approximate time of maximum consumption as it relates to completion of satisfaction . You can't be expected to follow such technical runner jargon.

I must admit, I was thrown for a loop in the last marathon. Typically, I hang back with the "real" fatties....you know the ones who usually die in the marathon bcs they didn't realize they were actually too fat to go 2.62 miles much less 26.2...but it never occurred to them before race day....them. About half way in, I decided to take a look around for some "motivation"....maybe someone in biker shorts screaming to be set free or someone on their cell phone calling the "can't finish cab" and then I realized...there wasn't a fatty in sight. Umm....had I died and gone to Purgatory? Heaven isn't ready for all this ass so that's the best I could hope for at the time. I remember the confusion confusing me. That happens. I was fixated on this woman who may have weighed a buck o' five soaking wet. She kept walking. I'm no Rocket Scientist, however comma, some sort of rule must state that if I can keep all 678 lbs of me running...she can certainly do the same! It's not nice to judge but...I'm not nice and I always wanted to be a judge. So then I started thinking....hmmm...I must be running pretty fast bcs everywhere I look I see skin and bones. No old people...no fatties. It was the land of misfits and I was highly agitated. Where were my people? I, unlike most, don't mind when a fatty passes me. I only ask one thing of her/him, save me some fries. Being surrounded by so much skin and bones gave me cravings for fried chicken! That, in turn, gave me a side stitch bcs...you guessed it...we ran right by KFC! Could I snag a biscuit unnoticed? Hell no. These twigs on rubber would never appreciate such a fine maneuver.

Long story short....it was all trickery as usual. While my time oozed fat, I finished with skin, bones and vinegar. For once in my life, I had no appetite. Either I need to get fatter or faster. Working on both. I managed to injure my rib running the marathon. I have no answer except that being surrounding by so much bone damaged the only visible bone on my body. That costs me a shot in each butt cheek leaving me with what appears to be 2 black eyes on my ass. That'll help the sex life I'm sure. I think try my hand at Yoga one more time. Guys like fat and flexible. They don't really care for a fatty who can outrun them. Too often we have trouble letting go and it makes for an ugly scene. Yup...back to Yoga...story to follow. Namaste.