I’m tired.

And drained.

And ready for bed at 8pm, except The Simpsons are on and then The Celebrity Apprentice, and I will no doubt stay up to watch. (Side note: Second wind is upon me, and I’m surprised to note that Donald Trump Jr. seems to be evolving his own [heinously ugly] hairdo. I thought baldness and unfortunate thinning were inherited from the mother, but apparently in Trumps it descends directly through the male genes. Or maybe it’s just a matter of bad taste? The world may never know…)

Is it me, or is this filled with icky, boiling blood?

Anyway, as it happens, I’m no longer the spring chicken I once was.

Actually, I’m not even sure I ever had a heyday as such…but I’m most definitely not in the midst of one right now.

Today was the 12k race, and from the get-go it was off to an inauspicious start. To begin, I didn’t get home from my trip until almost midnight.

Then, I slept like crap. I have this weird thing where sometimes I’ll sweat like I’ve got autonomic dysreflexia, post-traumatic syringomyelia, autonomic neuropathy, and a bunch of other stuff WebMD said can be the cause of night sweats that don’t sound like good things to have and hopefully aren’t the reason this happens to me every few months.

Actually, I once recorded the sweats for a solid year, and took all the dates in to my doctor (who probably thinks I’m nuts, although not quite nuts enough to have me committed against my will), and he pondered them for a few seconds Then he declared that the dates were too random to be a symptom of tuberculosis, but if they pick up in frequency, to let him know. Case closed.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I sweat it up and soak the sheets and it’s super gross and always leads to a crappy night’s sleep, partly because I wake up freezing, and partly because I have to get my freezing body out of bed and find new blankets and, in this case, crack open a window.

So that happened, and then it’s up at 6:45am and off to the races. It was cold and they called for rain all day, so I dressed more warmly than I have in past years. Then, I waited in a 45 minute line to use a disgusting portable potty which was probably riddled with tuberculosis and god knows what else, and then, the next thing I know, I’m off and running.

So the goal was to run the entire thing in less than an hour. Which meant 8 minute miles (or less). Which immediately did not happen. Mile one – 8:20. Mile two: 8:37 and so on, until I drug back down to my usual 9:00 or 9:15 minute by the seventh mile.

I was in sorry shape.

You wouldn’t have even thought I trained, which I did. Sort of. Admittedly, I only started said ‘training’ two weeks ago, and I probably didn’t kick my own @ss as much as I should have, but the  point remains: It didn’t work. And I refuse to blame my own lack of initiative and effort. I blame advancing age.

And the fact that I was wearing a polar fleece jacket, which had my race number attached to it, so I couldn’t take it off. Rather than pouring rain, the sun came out and it actually got quite hot. All in all, I was happy about this, but it didn’t do much to increase my need for speed.

Ouch and double-ouch. At least I wasn't in bare feet.

Then there was the ankle timer.

They make you wear this timing chip on a Velcro strap wrapped around your leg, and the thing had dug four holes into my ankle by the second mile. Then my leg started to feel all crazy and painful, and I got paranoid that I was running on a stress fracture or having some kind of random – but serious – problem.  In the end, I think I had the strap on too tight, but ultimately I stopped and attached the ankle timer to my shoelaces…and problem solved.

And two minutes lost.

So there you have it, mission not accomplished.

I got through the race, just not (remotely) as fast as I’d hoped.

In conclusion, and not to dwell on a topic that I am personally quite sick of and have come to believe is more hype than reality, if there is rampant swine flu epidemic out there, I’m probably in some serious trouble. Today during the race, no less than 50 people spit within three feet of me. And I”m sure I stepped in at least a quarter cup of human gunk of some kind or another during the 7 1/2 mile course.

That guy needed one of these.

But the worst of all?

And I swear I am not making this up.

At the end of the race, in the middle of downtown, right after the place where you pick up your ‘thanks for playing’ t-shirt, I saw a man – a mere four or five feet in front of me – plug his nostril and fire a giant wad of snot out of the other one. And then he plugged the other nostril and did it again!

In public!

Where people could see him!

Oh, the humanity.

At the same time, let me give you my solemn promise:  I will never, ever unload a noseful of snot onto the ground in public. And if I absolutely must do so for some unknown reason that obviously involves a complete and total lack of paper products, I promise to ask you to look the other way and plug your ears first.

Cross my heart and hope to die.

Yep. That's me. Working a green afro. Drinking green beer. Wearing a 'Green Beer Taste Tester' t-shirt. Go big or go home.

Not from the alcohol so much as the green food coloring. I don’t know if they do that everywhere, but in the U.S. we like to take our cheapest beer – typically Budweiser – and make it just a little bit worse by adding copious amounts of green dye to it. I already celebrated the occasion on Saturday, and it’s unlikely I’ll be up for an encore tonight. Regardless, my sincerest and most slurred “Slainte” to you all!

In other news, the lady who checked me out at Wal-mart (yes. Wal-Mart. I go for the irresistible rolled back prices. I stay for the opportunity to hobnob with some of humanity’s more unique and peculiar offerings. The mistakes, if you will.) told me very excitedly that she KNOWS spring is coming. It is fact. It is universal law.

How does she know this?
Because she saw a fly.

Ummmmm…  Newsflash. I’ve got a whole community of fruit flies living in my kitchen. I’ve been keeping them happy and healthy all winter long. They are not a sign of anything. Except inferior housekeeping and cleaning skills.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for wishful thinking. I engage in it every day.

I just don’t know that you should declare your hope-based seasonal hypothesis as fact; especially when it’s sideways snowing outside.

You know you're in a dangerous place when a lion looks freaked out.

Meanwhile, and perhaps on a related note, although I realize one shouldn’t take life advice from Facebook quizzes…the “Where should you live?” quiz has gotten under my skin. I did it yesterday and despite my secret hope for Fiji or Hawaii, I got the answer of Afrika (and why it’s spelled with a “k” I really couldn’t say), “You belong in Africa, where everything is wild. You’re someone who wants to get away from the material world. Maybe you’re someone who likes to help the people there, or maybe you just want to be somewhere where the sun shines all the time and where the people are still down to earth and always have a smile on their faces. You don’t mind the danger of wild animals, you want an adventurous life.”

That was unexpected.  I think it was the choice to eat chicken with my hands that landed me on the Dark Continent.

On the other hand, the more I think about it, the more I’m kind of digging it.

Facebook is right! I DO belong in Africa! I DO want the sun to shine all the time, and I’m tired of American excess, and I’m not afraid to die in the teeth of a wild animal. No, wait. I AM afraid to do in the teeth of a wild animal, but I can learn…