See this guy?
He may be good looking, but he's slightly crazy.
I know this because he recently chose to run 10.7 miles...
...nine of which were up a steep grade...
...at midnight...
...through the desert...
...for fun.
He wasn't always this way.
*sigh*
The following is the story of my husband's descent into madness:
About eight months ago, Jeff started running to train for a work-related physical test. The resultant loss of 20 pounds pleased him to no end, so even once he had passed the test, he continued to jog.
One thing led to another and suddenly he had signed up to compete on his work's team in a statewide relay race held near Las Vegas.
Jeff requested that I accompany him (in the driving portion of the trip), so we had ourselves a little adventure.
Now, I know there are a number of fun experiences to be had in LV and that a lot of great people live there or have lived there. (Rhonda, Esther and Brooke all come to mind.) However, when I'm walking down the street, minding my own business and some guy tries to force a porno postcard into my hand or I'm eating breakfast at an unassuming diner and some lady walks in wearing what can only be described as super-skanky-lingerie, it doesn't exactly endear me to the locale, but that is where the race was being run, so off we went.
Unfortunately, my choice of hotels was rather lame.
We got off to a poor start at check-in. The concierge informed me that I needed to pay a "resort fee" in addition to the charge for the room. I told her that we wouldn't be using the resort facilities. She said that all guests pay the resort fee regardless of their utilization of said facilities. It was only six dollars so I just ponied up but with a snarl in my heart. If everybody has to pay it, why not just include it in the room fee? Argh...
Looking around the lobby, I saw multiple posters of classical celebrities whose photos were taken with this hotel's sign visible in the background. It was as if they were trying to say, "This was the hot spot back in the 50s!" Well, just glancing around the shabby lobby I could tell that if Elvis was alive today, he would certainly not be staying there. Not even in his overweight, gospel-singing days.
When we got up to our room, it only got better (worse?). The furniture was misshapen and bubbled, not in a hip artsy sort of a way, but in a hey-y'all-he'p-me-git-this-here-roadside-wonder-up-yonder-into-the-back-of-the-pickup-truck sort of a way.
And the beds? Not so comfy.
Oh, well. We didn't spend much time in the room anyway because Jeff needed to get to his staging area to be ready to start his leg of the run. We hung out there for about two hours before he was passed the baton. Then, as he ran, I drove to the staging area where he would end his leg.
There were hundreds of people there, some of whom were rather interesting. Since it was night time and they were running alongside a highway, they all wore reflective vests equipped with little flashing lights. Jeff called his a "Christmas tree vest".
There was one intimidating looking guy who was big, burly and covered with hair but the most remarkable thing about him was his attire. Imagine a viking in nylon short shorts. The abbreviated length of his shorts afforded us all a view of his rippling thigh muscles, rubbing against each other as he walked. Yeah, I know...I tried not to look but when you're behind someone who is so tall that the oddity is practically at eye level, it's hard not to notice such things.
The most memorable person, however, was the guy who, upon finishing his leg of the race, promptly began to puke all over the finish line. The nurses on hand braced him to keep him from falling face first into his filth and then moved him over to a cot where he proceeded to unload the rest of his stomach's contents.
Good times...good times.
Jeff plowed through the finish line 92 minutes and forty seconds after he began. That's 8 minutes and thirty-nine seconds per mile! My fastest miles are a minute slower than that on
flat ground, so I must say that I was
impressed.
He said that his brain seemed to switch teams during the last half mile, screaming at his body, "Stop!" (I've felt that in the
first half mile of a run!)
I took some pics but they didn't turn out very well with all that rapid movement and the darkness, but here's one about half an hour after he finished:
(That's dust flying through the air, not snow.)
By the time we got back to our hotel room, it was almost 3:00 in the morning. Jeff promptly showered and fell into bed, asleep as his head hit the pillow.
I didn't sleep as soundly. In fact, I had the misfortune of experiencing a night terror about an hour after going to bed. I awoke, screaming, thinking that someone was leaning over me. The person was dressed like this:
(Yeah, apparently, my daughter's latest alter ego is antagonizing my subconscious.) I laid there, my heart racing, expecting to hear footsteps running down the hallway to our room's door and the pounding of security guards' fists, their voices calling out for proof that all was well.
Well...that didn't happen. I guess everyone who heard my scream just chalked it up to being in Vegas.
Even scarier than my wild imagination were these:
(No, those are
not MY feet!) By morning, two of Jeff's toenails were turning black and felt "spongy" (whatever that means!). As I write this, they are completely black but still attached. He wondered for days if he'd pull off his sock and find the nails in the toe of it, clinking against each other like coins in a pocket.
Before leaving Vegas, we met Steve, Sweetwater and Evelyn for breakfast:
With our dose of cuteness for the day, we headed home, Jeff saying that he would run the race again, but not that particular leg.
Yeah, right. The horrors of that last half mile will fade and he'll be chomping at the bit to go do it all over again.
Mark my words, this time next year I'll be posting a very similar entry. I'm sure of it. :)
