People are obsessed about all matters of sports in my Ohio hometown. For God’s sakes, we are the site of the Pro-Football Hall of Fame and possess the biggest astroturf-laden high school outdoor arena in all the world. Tennis, basketball, football, golf…someone was always rabidly cheering for a gifted athlete in my youth. Me, I never got into the spirit. I’d just sit and read books in my dark closet or teach math to my classroom of dolls. Until, one day, well into my 20’s I saw “Without Limits” the Steve Prefontaine story. For those of you who don’t know Pre, he’s only the greatest American runner that ever lived and the enduring pride of the University of Oregon track team. One fan has said “It’s very odd, but when anyone talks about Pre the room is dead silent. No matter if it’s in a small group of 10 or a huge group of 1,000 people no one there would dare interrupt the speaker. All eyes fall upon the speaker as if he is preaching. Steve Prefontaine is a man who will be remembered forever.” Rest assured I will.

After I peeked at Pre’s life story depicted on screen, his equline-like muscles dancing in motion, there was only one thing to do: Strap on a pair of Nikes myself and start fartleking. Building up a marathon endurance has not been easy, especially given my nerdish, sedintary former existence. I’ve endured more than my share of giggles from friends and loved ones along the way. “My daughter, an althlete?” (Cue the uncontrollable laughter) You want running shoes more than a new purse? Are you su-re? Wait, let me get this straight, you just fell jogging on a cement sidewalk and poked a crater in your knee and you’re going to keep at it? Uh, Yep, as soon as the 10 layers of skin heal over and my ankle air cast comes off.
During my journey to the eight minute mile, I’ve discovered a community of obsessed fellow enthusiasts (who knew there were so many other people willing to rise at 5:30 AM to run 45 minutes in 90 degree heat) and learned the secret rules of running authenticity, like: 1) water bottle belts are only for neophytes, sissies and those in a marathon training program who can’t even run two miles; 2) one NEVER wears the shirt of the race you are running in but instead shows off by donning shirts from the cool races you’ve run in the past. Althelete as showhorse..hee..hee..and 3) Runners are loyal and unwavering about the brand of shoes they will don. Nike is Nike and Saucony is Saucony and nere the two shall meet. Although I confess to recently making the surprising transition from New Balance to ASICS, an unlikely swap which is only the result of losing my NB’s in an airport luggage mix-up. I won’t tell if you won’t. I mean who wants to lose my corporate sponsorship?
I’m convinced runners are the ham radio geeks of the sports world: so excited to find a fellow journeyman and perfectly happy discussing mutual interests of the best shoes, socks, wicking material and early morning running routes for hours on end. It unites people from all walks of life. Running has transformed me, physically and emotionally. Not only did I grow breasts, but my entire anatomical shape changed and I sprouted mini-muscles on my arms and legs. Mentally, I am stronger having broken a barrier I never thought I could, scuplting my body into an athletic machine and graduating from atrophied geekdom to be one of “them”, the swift in speed and spirit who gladly get up at 6AM on Saturday to run the charity race.

Pre once said that to give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift. Thanks Steve for inspiring me to realize I had a gift to give to myself. :cheer:

Signed,
TLRRG (That Little Redheaded Running Girl)

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Well, the facades of certain stern, hard core, nail spitting, take no prisoners infantry officers are starting to slip, showing (gasp!) senses of humor as our tour of sandy parts plows on like a dull wooden plow attached to a 100 year old ox furrowing through the rocky hills of 18th century Ireland.

Gems of wit have been spotted sprinkled throughout top secret padlocked to the wrist documents that issue from our tough as woodpecker lips infantry staff. Fear not, I will stop short of divulging state secrets, unless it’s the fact that infantry officers, once put in desk jobs involving such scintillating tasks as logistics and planning, actually retain a sense of humor.

USO sponsored entertainment does occasionally make it to my old outlying camp. The last comedian tour was not particularly well attended, perhaps due in part to the fact that the acts were performed by 4 middle age balding guys in ratty Hawaiian shirts. The upcoming comedy tour promises better attendance, perhaps not because of the sudden upswing in talent, but likely because the USO comedian is, in the words of one of my male compadre, A smokin’ hot babe! Likely she is only average to pretty, but hey, months of deployment will turn even the most homely of gals into someone that can be put in quotation marks.

How do I know this, being that I am stranded up at Camp Tootie Fruity away from my old friends? I was privy a top secret document which demanded;

Appoint one Ranger qualified Infantry officer, preferably single, handsome and a shining example of the Infantry branch, to escort Ms T— throughout her time on the camp. Officer should take numerous photographs of himself with Ms. T— and then forward them to all other male officers in the brigade. If he fails to obtain a personal autograph with contact information, he shall be mercilessly ridiculed by his peers.

And yet there was more fodder. In an apparent attempt to lighten up the no fun command as we were prone to be called, another order to our subordinate units read;

The commander has ordered a completely spontaneous moment of joy and celebration at precisely 5:10 am on Monday morning to commemorate the end of — (a particular series of documents). Said moment of spontaneity will last exactly 116 seconds, at the end of which all fun will immediately cease and seriousness will promptly resume.

I kid you not. (Ok, I lied. I kid you all the time, but this week’s column is true and pretty much wrote itself.) Both gems are now permanently locked into the annals of military history, inscribed forever in the operational orders of our mighty U.S. Army.

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