Runners are weird

A co-worker once told me that runners are a little weird.  Being one, I didn't quite understand.

The other day I was having a conversation with another runner friend.  We were asking each other how the other person's injuries were doing.  "I'm still nursing it a little bit,"  I had to reply when he asked how I was doing.  I asked him how he was.  "My knee is good, but my nipple hurts when I run,"  he replied. 

How do you reply to something like that? For me it was easy--I simply told him to put a band-aid on it.  While we were on the subject of chaffed body parts, we started talking about Body Glide.  It looks like deodorant, but you can rub it all over to keep from chaffing.  We simply wondered how we ever survived without it.

I wonder, don't most people have salt tablets, power bars, gels, and electrolyte drinks for breakfast?

I really don't understand what that co-worker was talking about.  

Happy Birthday! You busted through

Happy Birthday!  It's a strange greeting.  Think about it--those that have experienced this greeting a lot, don't want it anymore.  Those that haven't had that many of these greetings can't wait for the next one. 

But, what does it mean?  Congratulations on surviving all of the trials that are inherent in womb life.  Really, think about all of the things that need to grow in a precise order.  There's that dangerous cord; you can't breathe on the inside.  And can you think of a scarier word than placenta?  It sounds like that big fuzzy red monster that was  always after Marvin the Martian. 

Does it mean congratulations your father had some strong swimmers and you may as well have been playing craps that night because what are the odds that you came out with five toes and not three noses? 

Either way, it's quite a feat that any of us are here.  It's almost like each person is uniquely created.  

Lessons from a poo flinger

My son isn't quite two yet.  If I were to say that he's sometimes a handful, it would be like saying sometimes a tornado leaves a path of destruction.  He has developed this unfortunate habit lately.  Before anyone in the house wakes up, he often reaches into his pants and pulls out a handful of poop. 

The key to if it is going to be a rough day usually lies with the answer to the question "did he smear?"  If the wall looks like a Jackson Pollock painting, I'm usually not starting the day in a good mood.

If you think about it, young kids have a lot to teach us--quite often, I believe they are God's way of teaching us patience.  I always hated that subject... even more than math.  What else can we learn from these instances that make parents want to scream and make friends of parents laugh 'till they pee their pants? 

If kids are unhappy, they either do something or they ask for help (meaning they scream).  They don't just persist in misery.  Somewhere along the way, adults seem to loose this.  We give time and energy to things that hurt and bother us--grown up poo.  Some have addictions.  Some let their work take them away from the things that matter in their lives.  Wouldn't it be an amazing things to see if adults could be child-like and simply admit "I have poo in my life and I need help cleaning it up."