For reasons that seem to escape my mother, I have decided to run in the Chicago Marathon. Most people seem to give support, while the woman who brought me into this earth claims that I never liked running. First off, any person between the ages of 5-20 that enjoys running without the pleasure of a ball to follow around is a sadist. Growing up I was forced into enough running to envoke a hatred of it; until getting older and fatter I realized the calming, not to mention confidence boosting, effect that a good run has on your psyche and the obvious health benefits. It helps that your girlfriend is an incredibly fit woman who professionally keeps people in good health. I'd like to get into adventure racing in the future, but for now it's just baby steps...all the way to a 26.2 mile fucking race. Am I insane? I think so, others applaud me for this decision.
I've been kind of lazy in getting the bachelor party stories up, but I've had a lot of turmoil lately with my job being slow and my knee going from a torn to shreds future bio-mechanic experiment to a sprained PCL. I'll leave you all (or just Skaggs) with a picture, just one.
The reason my face is so red...a good 20 minutes outside trying to hail 2 cabs at 3am on Friday night...in -20 wind chill conditions. I'm a genius.
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