Saturday, September 19, 2009

How About a Nice Punch in the Face?

My boyfriend is an idiot. Today he willingly ran a half marathon. That's not a real marathon, but pretty freaking close. Well technically it's half the distance of a real marathon, but since a real marathon is, oh about a million miles long, I think a half marathon qualifies to make him an idiot. There was no gun pointed at his head, no money being offered, no cute African children to save. Nothing. He ran "just because it's fun." I tried telling him that going to the movies is fun, petting a puppy is fun, reading a good book is fun. Hell, even punching yourself in the face is fun compared to running a half marathon. In fact, the next time he's thinking about running for the sake of running, I'm going to suggest he punch himself in the face a couple times to see if that would satisfy his need to torture himself.

The weirdest thing is that he came home and was all happy. "Hey honey, I'm home! I just ran until I couldn't breathe and my legs fell off, but oh I feel sooo good now! Lemme just crawl over to you and I'll give you a nice sweaty kiss." Also, he wasn't the only one doing it. There were a ton of people there, all just as eager to cripple themselves as effectively as possible and compete about who vomits first. The guy with the bald spot won.

This is his own fascinating narrative of the run: "First there was the starting shot, then I ran, and then I ran some more and there were cows and then I ran and then I finished." That's awesome, Forrest. Personally I think he left out the part where he couldn't feel his feet anymore and he went into cardiac arrest, but I guess those are minor details.

And you know what? He's done it before! Twice! And he still did it again. You'd think after doing it once you'd be satisfied in knowing that you can do it. You'd know that you're the man and if for some reason all cars stopped working, all public transport ceased to exist and there were no more camels to ride on, you'd still be able to get to work on time. But to then go and do it again? Yeah.

M, I love you, but you're an idiot. I'm just saying.


  1. And of course... the fucking thing ate my comment.


    Remind me to never let M tell me that he has something fun planned when I get to Finland. I do not want to find myself running down the street in my undies waiting for my legs to fall off so I can beat myself with them until I'm put out of my misery.

  2. If we go running down the street, I'll make sure we're doing it for something worth the cause. Like free booze. I would run for free booze.

  3. I could run a little ways for free booze. I might need a second (more like eternity) to catch my breath once we reached said free booze, but I could do it.



This blog uses the Disqus comment system. If you see this message, please wait until you see the Disqus comment form or refresh your browser. Comments posted here will not show up on the blog.