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Recently, a girl I go to school with asked me if I will be willing to volunteer at an event that benefitted veterans. The event was a BBQ competition. If you know me, BBQ is serious business and I am reasonably fond of veterans. This is something that I’m inclined to do. After I established that we were not, in fact, BBQing the veterans themselves, I started to make plans to at least attend.

Conversely, I get a lot of invitations and notices about walks or runs for one cause or another. I want to be clear on this.

I’m not running.

If there were a zombie apocalypse, and my life depended on me running, then I would die eaten by zombies. I’m not happy about it. My fight or flight response has been replaced by a fight response. Flight is not an option.

When people ask you to run they immediately stop speaking English. They saunter up to you and ask you to run ‘a 5K.’ Whoa. This is America. We use miles. Why did you suddenly switch to the metric system? Are all bets off once we start talking about running? Are we like, “Runner 26, is five hands high, and is moving along at 12 knots, which is a nice little clip?”

We use miles, you commies.

Plus, the concept is insulting. Most of the time, its a walk for lupus, or a run for cerebal palsy. Well, guess what? Those people can’t walk! Its like helping the blind,by teaching color theory classes, and then telling them about it.

“Guess what Timmy? Everybody walked for you today! Hundreds of people walking together, wearing pictures of you and your withered legs in your wheelchair. Isn’t that great?”

I am not walking either. Running is near impossible, but walking is death by a thousand cuts. There’s this point where I start getting warm, and then there’s this spot on the back of my neck that I can’t get dry and I keep thinking there’s a spider on me, but its just sweat. But its too late. Once your brain goes “Spider!” that is it. You just keep thinking there is a spider on you.

My underwear relocates to one side of my groin and rubs me raw, and by the time I quit mentally, I realize that my journey is only half over…because now I have to walk back.

My wife likes to walk, so the whole time we do it, she’s smiling and looking at stuff and chattering. Its like being in a concentration camp and having a cheerful guard.

Just so you know, when I ignore your Facebook invite, its not personal. I’m not running.

 

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