A sad start to a new year: a runner's diary (part 2) [Humor]

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On Saturday, January 7th, the second leg of the Polar Bear Grand Prix was held in Cherokee Park.  The Frostbite 5k was jam packed with people of various ages following one another, alternating their left and right feet at varying speeds.  One local fitness expert even declared the race “Louisville’s equivalent of the Running of the Bulls.”  Fortunately, that dude was quickly declared a moron by everyone who heard him utter such lunacy. 

Previously, I chronicled my adventures running the first leg of the Grand Prix, the Reindeer Romp 4k, which by most objective standards, would be judged a hate crime against fitness (my performance, not the Romp).  And like that race, I again brought along my 11 year-old daughter, because there is nothing a father loves more than having his child loudly document all of his failings as a man and a human being.

10:30 p.m. (the night before) – Family movie night has just ended and I find myself oddly inspired by my 6 year-old daughter’s film selection.  In response, I have decided to train my body to operate without sleep, and in the process, transform myself into an efficient piece of physical awesomeness.  I’ve also decided that as a family, we will start making our own soap.  Thanks Fight Club!

3:37 a.m. – I’m now a little more than 5 hours into my new no-sleep training regimen.  My body is electric with all the untapped potential that is coursing through my veins.  Taking a break from my training, I turn on the television and discover that the only thing on this time of night is the World Series of Poker and something called Sexy Bikini Time Machine.

3:39 a.m. – All the electricity has been tapped.  Very sleepy.  Didn’t even get a chance to switch channels to the World Series of Poker.  Zzzzzzzz….

8:27 a.m. – I awake to the sound of my daughter shaking her head in disgust.  The race is in 33 minutes and I’m still on the couch.  Because I’m not in bed, she assumes her mother is divorcing me.  I explain my new training regimen and my new found passion for televised poker.  She asks me if she’s old enough to “call bulls**t” on me.  Like the responsible kid she is, my kid has already dressed and eaten breakfast (small bowl of oatmeal and half a banana).  I grab a donut that I think has custard in it, but ends up being filled with red fruity goo.  Since fruit is a good source of energy, I have two donuts.  Seeing this, my daughter asks why I don’t take up smoking while I’m at it.  I respond by saying, “Why don’t you just take up not…saying…stuff.”  I suck at comebacks.