I have a friend who likes to run a hundred miles in the desert with other folks who like to run a hundred miles in the desert.
He’s smarter than me, but I challenge his thinking anyway. I try to find scientific support showing this isn’t a good way to invest one’s time or body. In the kindest way I know, I tell him he’s crazy.
The truth is, I’m filled with envy. I dream of being out there with him, scooting among the palm trees, rhythmically moving my muscular legs mile after mile after mile. I see familiar faces from decades ago cheering me on. I hear my long deceased mother saying, “Vern, I told you my boy has gumption.” I imagine splashing a cool victory bottle of water over my head at the finish line. Fans are taking Polaroids. I may be on the cover of Runner’s World.
My imagination got the best of me. Actually, I’m at Taco Bell. As I raise my hands for my victory sign, I spill all the red sauce on my tan pants.
I need to find another article supporting my theory about the dangers of running a hundred miles in the desert.