Things to count along your Half Marathon.

Dogs. 7
Women. 29
Men. 15
Worms. 2
Babies in strollers. 3
Deer. 1 Mother Bambi, 2 baby Bambis = 3 total Bambis.

Today I set out on my own little piece of hill climbing extravaganza. While most fat men were accumulating more fat and theorizing that running might solve the conflicts in the Holy Land - I was out there proving that running actually does not solve conflict. It just pits you against a lot of hills and personal development opportunities. The UN will have to deal with the bombs, guns, and Holy Wars as I have found out that diplomacy is better left to those that don't do much but espouse avoiding conflict. I believe that is why I don't see that many politicians strapping on the running shoes and getting in touch with their inner demons. But again, I digress.

I must admit that I was supposed to be running the Top of Utah Half Marathon today - but that did not happen because I, like a typical man, procrastinated till the bitter end and then the race closed. Such is my luck. I thought I would be doing a gradual downhill grade and coasting into the finish line surrounded by those disappointed few that were expecting to see a skinny Nigerian cross the line. But alas they get left with me. A white man who has no claim to speed or skinny.

So, I thought this week was going to be easy. Nope. It was not. I had to form my own little marathon of the half. So where did I go? All inquiring minds wanted to know. I went and visited my friend. City Creek Canyon. Not downhill. Not a gradual descent. Not a gradual ascent. In fact you go from 4500 feet above sea level to around 6500 feet above sea level. And all along the way your fat is wondering where the nearest doughnut shop is, and your feet respond "Aye matey it tis be around that corner and up the hill a ways...." The feet know where you are going. The new fat on the block is unaccustomed to such arduous punishment. You see none of the old fat is there to tell the new fat that all it has to do is sit back and make friends. The old fat got kicked out last week during the 20 mile debacle up the same road. The new fat was acquired through some chocolate milk and barely got its bed made before it was called on as a sacrifice to the volcano.

You might recall that some volcanoes need a sacrifice to keep the island safe. Preferably a virgin sacrifice. Well all I got on board was the chocolate milk - nasty way to wake up and pound it out of you... But I have a marathon to get ready for and no fat gets left behind.